A Star Wept for Me
by Elven Dreamer Child
Summary: Legolas and Aragorn set out on a diplomatic mission to Dale, but find more suprises than they bargained for and forgetting about Dale, they are more interested in keeping themselves alive. Multiple OC's along for the ride
1. A Fox on Two Legs

Title: A Star Wept for Me

Feedback: please please please please 

Author: Estelrond, but I go by a whole bunch of other things too...as you well know...

Rating: PG-13. Lots of Aragorn and Legolas torture. Plus an OC...hugs Farlest

Disclaimer: They're not mine, and they never will be...sniff Farlest is my creation but I do not own him, he owns me. That mischievous little devil...

This little story is dedicated to the infamous authoress, Cassia. For without her I would never have discovered AFI and this fic would never have come into being as, 'Death of Seasons', 'Girls Not Grey' and 'Bleed Black', were one of the primary inspirations for this. Title included.

Ok, I'll shut up and start now...

Part One

A Fox on Two Legs

I saw a star beneath the stairs glowing through the melting walls.  
Who will be the first to begin their fall?  
Or will we become one?  
Am I the star beneath the stairs?

_-AFI_

Legolas and Aragorn were standing in front of Thranduil's desk, and not even the Elven-king's glare seemed to bother the two at that particular moment.

The ranger was grinning from ear to ear, without any inhibitions whatsoever. His shoulders shuddering from the laughter that he was trying so very hard to suppress. Legolas was trying to hold a façade of innocence, but the corners of his lips kept curving slightly upward in an almost smile, giving the elf a rather smug look.

Thranduil kept glaring until both friends were able to maintain of at least half-believable seriousness.

"This is no laughing matter." Legolas' father said solemnly. "Those two 'pets' of yours wreaked havoc on a very important business meeting. And because of it, the amendment to the trading agreement is in jeopardy. So..." The elf folded his hands , leaning forward towards the two friends, "I have decided that you both will go to Dale and conduct the rest of the agreement."

If Legolas had not been so very good at maintaining an air of nonchalance, his mouth would have dropped open.

Unfortunately, Aragorn was not half as accomplished in this realm as his immortal companion and his jaw was as far away from the roof of his mouth as it could go beyond injuring himself.

"Ranger, close your mouth. You look like a beached fish." Snapped Thranduil.

Legolas heard the click of Aragorn's teeth as he clamped his jaw firmly back in place.

After a moment of obvious struggling, "That's not fair!" the man finally got out.

My cause in sending you two is perfectly justified. The palace could use a little peace and quiet." Said Thranduil firmly, his jaw set just as firmly as Aragorn's.

Legolas was about to say something, try and cool the tempers of both his friend and his father, when one of the two missing-up-until-this-point miscreants of the morning appeared over the King's shoulder.

The Mirkwood prince chanced a glance in Aragorn's direction, the ranger's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. As it was, Legolas was hardly breathing.

The fox cub seemed to think he was the only one in the room.

One of two orphans that Aragorn and Legolas had found on a jaunt into the forest, they had been named Aran and Oran, Oran being the one on the oblivious Elven-king's chair.

At the moment, the little rascal decided that he needed a chew toy and that Thranduil's ear was perfect for the moment.

Legolas groaned.

An elf walking in the corridor outside the king's study heard a shout and shook his head in dismay. He hoped that the king wasn't being too hard on the two youngsters. The fiasco at the meeting hadn't truly been their fault after all. Besides, they needed a little excitement now and then.

Half an hour later, the pair emerged from their lengthy and very irate lecture by the furious elven-king.

Aragorn was wearing a slightly dazed expression and Legolas was much paler than usual. The elf was trying to console the trembling bundle of fur that he cradled gently in his arms.

"I thought we weren't going to get out of that one with our skins." Muttered Aragorn darkly. He was still in shock and hadn't firmly regained his hearing after Thranduil's fierce tirade.

"we're lucky we're only going to Dale to amend the trade agreement. I have the feeling that Adar would have us do ten years of hard labor as well." Legolas shook his head; they were fortunate. When the fox had bitten his father...well, let's just say that even Aragorn had been impressed with Thranduil's vocabulary.

Hopefully Aran would make his appearance before they left in the morning. Legolas wanted to get the little rogues into good hands before they went. He desperately wanted to avoid any more incidents if they could be at all prevented.

Putting his arm around his friend's shoulder, he gave his friend a reassuring grin, "But now that that's over, what say we go ask Varantith if he'll watch the foxes for us while we're gone."

Aragorn brightened, "All right!"

The ranger knew that Varantith's wife had a soft spot for Legolas, and always had something tasty for her favorite prince. Not to mention anyone that happened to accompany him...

"Our luck must be holding out." Sighed Aragorn, slinging the saddle over his mare's back. "If your father hadn't been late to breakfast this morning..." he trailed off. The rest was probably best left unsaid.

Aran had made his reappearance that morning. Attempting to go for a swim in a pitcher of milk no less!

Legolas had been mortified, and even Aragorn was sober, as they'd retrieved the impudent little fellow from his poorly chosen swimming hole.

Giving both foxes to Varantith, they had hastily hurried to the stables, anxious to leave before someone told Thranduil about the episode.

Stopping before the gates, Legolas called out a few words in Elvish, the gate opened before the prince's voice, allowing the two friends to ride through.

Legolas nodded a greeting to the two guards, walking the horse as slowly as possible. Once through they coaxed the animals to a trot, and once out of site, a flat out gallop through the forest.

Laughing with the ecstasy of freedom, the elf and ranger dodged trees and jumped logs, trying to outrace the other. The wind whipped their hair, sending it blowing out behind them.

Legolas ducked a low hanging branch, he was clearly in the lead, but even so he slowed, the forest was dark even in daylight, and he had no wish for either of them to get killed pr hurt on so simple a mission as this.

Aragorn reigned in beside him, "What's wrong?"

"Not a thing, Aragorn. I simply don't want you running into a tree."

Aragorn gave an exasperated sigh, "Sometimes you Elves are no fun at all. I swear, you all think I'm going to fall apart."

Legolas shrugged, giving his friend a sly grin, "I don't know, maybe you will."

"Oh come on, Legolas, let's go already!" Aragorn spurred his mount forward in a huff.

The elf laughed, "You're entirely too affected by the same taunts over and over. You really need to develop an immunity to it."

Aragorn frowned, "No I think I'll pass. I don't want to be a stuck-up bit of royalty like someone else I know."

Legolas smirked, "Hmmmm...that's all right. At least that stuck-up bit of royalty takes a bath more than once a month."

The look that Aragorn gave his friend was positively baleful. Urging his mount to a trot he rode past Legolas. The elf didn't bother to catch up. After all, if Aragorn was determined to be difficult, why should he make it worse? But then, he really couldn't let such a perfect opportunity go bad.

"And brushes his hair daily. And doesn't fall off of cliffs!"

Aragorn didn't even bother to look back over his shoulder. Why did the elf always bring that one up? It was bad enough that he seemed to have a natural attraction to those long falls that always ended in jarring pain. "One of these days, you are going to fall off a cliff, my friend. And I am never, ever going to let you live it down."

Legolas let it drop, "Well, we should reach Dale within the next day. If we camp by the river tonight it will be safer. The forest is less dense there. ARAGORN! STOP!"

The ranger's horse stopped abruptly, its nose bumping into the other horse's flank. "What? What is it Legolas? I don't see anything."

His friend had already dismounted; a leaf on a tall shrub had caught his attention. Examining it, his face grew solemn.

"Aw come on, Legolas, this is no time to pick flowers!" Aragorn's head appeared over the elf's shoulder, then he saw the blood on the leaf in his friend's hand, and was immediately silenced.

"Someone's been injured here, recently." Legolas voice was quiet. He hated to think about any living creature left out here, injured and alone, at the mercy of spiders or whatever else might decide to take advantage of his hurts.

Aragorn was already in his element, a tracker at heart, he was examining the surrounding area. "He went this way, Legolas." He pointed away from the river, into the forest. The ranger turned to his friend, "Whoever or whatever it is, he's loosing a lot of blood. He's as good as dead if wolves or worse get a scent on him."

His brow wrinkled , "That's odd." He muttered.

"What's odd?"

"There's no tracks. Blood, but no tracks. And as you know, that can only mean one thing..."

Straightening from his crouched position, he met Legolas' gaze, "He's an elf, and he'll die out here."

The elf's blue-grey eyes were hard with determination, "Not if I can help it."

Aragorn put his hand on his friend's shoulder, "I knew you would want to help. Dale can wait."

Putting his hand atop Aragorn's the elf smiled, "Hannon le, mellon-nin. We have to try."

Legolas detested the thought of someone, frightened and alone in the darkness that Mirkwood had become, and even if he survived the day, night brought terrors that struck terror into the greatest warriors of his people. He would not willingly leave anyone here to face the dangers that hid in the shadows of what had once been a grand forest.

Still on the trail of the wounded elf half an hour later, Aragorn turned a skeptical glance on his companion.

"He's moving awfully fast for someone who's loosing as much blood as he is. Are you sure it's not a trap of some type?"

"I am not going to leave until I am sure. I could not live with myself if my conscience continually reminded me that I may have caused the death of another who had done no wrong."

Aragorn groaned, "How did I know you'd say something like that?" Then he smiled sadly, "But you are right my friend, I too could not live with something like that. Though," he paused, that familiar glint in his eye, "I would not have thousands of years to contemplate my mistake."

"Oh, you're insufferable!" snapped Legolas, "Just follow the trail."

A few minutes later, Aragorn stopped so suddenly that Legolas ran into him. "Hey! Be careful! You could have told me you were stopping!"

"It just ends." Said Aragorn, pointing to the trail they had been following. And it did indeed. The dark stain in the grass just stopped, as if it had never been.

Legolas had a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach. Unless their quarry had stopped here and bound up his wounds, something had gotten to him before he and Aragorn had. Spiders most likely, as there were no signs of dragging.

Just then, something grabbed him from behind, dragging him towards the forest floor. Crashing to the ground he fought violently, struggling to free himself from whatever had him. He heard the unmistakable sound of Aragorn's sword leaving its sheath and his friend frantically calling his name. But all his resistance ceased abruptly as he felt a cold blade touch his throat.

Aragorn moved forward, a distinctly dangerous look in his eye.

"I wouldn't do that. I'm not kindly inclined to being crowded." The voice had a pleasant lilt to it; yet, there were undertones of pain and weariness that almost put a distasteful twist to the words. It was soft, deadly.

Legolas glanced a look down, there were raven strands, mingling with his own golden hair, and the hand that held the knife was long-fingered, it looked as if it belonged to an artist or craftsman. The prince gave a wry chuckle, they had found their quarry it seemed. And he had been as quiet as little Oran on Thranduil's shoulder, waiting to bite.

"What do you want?" asked Legolas, his voice held an almost defiant tone, despite his disadvantaged position. He sincerely hated it when someone got the best of him, and somehow he was now more aware of his surroundings, if that was possible, especially the rock digging into his leg...

"What I want?" his assailant gave a low laugh, it sounded rather sad, "well it hardly matters right now. What I want to know is what you and why you were following me. Well, I'm waiting!"

_Impatient devil isn't he? _Thought Legolas.

"We saw the blood and wondered if you were injured. We only wish to help." Aragorn's voice was strained, this strange elf had his friend, and the raven-haired being's deep green glare was decidedly unsettling.

"Truly. I wondered, if you were stalking my, why you were making more noise than an enraged orc." There was a slight smirk to the thin lips.

"Excuse me?" hissed Legolas, "Enraged orc? Right now I'm an enraged elf would you please remove your blade from my throat!?!?"

"Oh yes, forgot about that little trinket. So sorry." He released the death grip he'd had on Legolas' shoulder and resheathed his blade.

The prince clambered to his feet, while Aragorn hastily moved to stand beside his friend, already berating himself for letting this stranger catch them off their guard. Whilst Legolas sighed in relief, it was indeed an elf.

Albeit a strange one. He was dressed in rough, almost ranger-like clothing, not the usual garb that the immortals preferred. He wore a sword on one hip and a dagger on the other, and at that moment he was reclining casually against a log, as if the intense scrutiny did not bother him at all. His sharp gaze and handsome, angular features did indeed bring to mind Aran and Oran, only more cunning, if that was possible, not sinister in any way, unless you could call a wolf at bay that.

Even that relaxed poise spoke of action, as if at any moment he could be come a lethal warrior, ready to attack. He was dangerous, even for an elf, Legolas could see that, and he didn't like it.


	2. Not exactly Two Peas in a Pod

"I see introductions are in order, I'm Farlest." He raised his eyebrows as if to urge the other two wordlessly to speak.

Aragorn shot a look at his friend. Legolas had that stubborn look on, he was still sore from being bested, and if that glare was any indication, he was not going to be reasonably friendly for a while yet.

"I am Strider, and this is my friend Legolas. We were on our way to Dale when we happened upon your trail. If you would let me see to your wounds, I have some training as a healer."

"I'll be fine, 'tis only a scratch."

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a look, then turned back to Farlest.

"Right." They said in unison.

Aragorn knelt beside the elf, but he shied away. "I said I'm all right! Can't take a fellow at his word, can you?"

Legolas shook his head, "Not when they say it's only a scratch." He muttered, tossing Aragorn a meaningful look.

The ranger ignored him, his attention wholly fixed on the other glaring elf who was trying to fend off the persistent man.

"I'll be all right."

Aragorn was becoming extremely agitated, the only thing he hated worse than cliffs was a stubborn elf. And this one was promising to be twice the mule-headed fellow that Legolas was.

Farlest's eyes were as hard as the emeralds they so resembled, "So help me ranger, If you touch me I'll cut your bloody fingers off!"

"No you won't." said Legolas coolly, "because if you do you loose more than that."

The other elf returned the prince's stare with just as much heat. "I was just joking. Elves these days have no sense of humor..."

Aragorn chuckled, "Sometimes I have to agree with you there. Now, will you please let me help you. I can see that gash in your thigh, you've already lost a substantial amount of blood and you're apt to loose more if something isn't done."

"I can bloody take care of my flaming self." Muttered the other elf stoically. But he allowed Aragorn to push aside the torn legging aside to give the ranger a clear view of the wound underneath.

"Sword wound unless I'm mistaken. Where'd you get that?"

"Long story." Replied Farlest tersely. As if to say, 'none of your business'.

"So what are you? A bandit?" asked Legolas, his joking tone hiding the seriousness of the question, he just didn't feel safe, something about the other elf struck a familiar chord within him, and a dissonant one at that. Farlest was about as safe as a warg in its den.

The raven-haired elf laughed outright this time, but was cut off as he gasped in pain. "Watch it there! I want to be in one piece when you're done!"

Aragorn scowled, "I have to clean it first, your little tramp through the words didn't do anything for it."

Farlest shrugged, "Have it your way, human. But it feels like you're trying to take it off, not cleanse it..." he then trailed off into a low litany of words which even the twins would probably have been loathe to repeat as Aragorn continued his ministrations.

Half an hour later, when Aragorn was tying off the bandage, he finally noticed the reason for the silence of the past thirty minutes. Farlest and Legolas were engaged in a stare-fest that somehow seemed to make the air crackle with electricity.

The ranger sighed, why was he always the one who had to intercede and keep Legolas from venting his temper in less than peaceful ways. Breaking the two elves gaze by stepping between them, he tapped Legolas on the nose.

"And you're doing...what?"

"Hmmm? Me? Oh nothing, old ice-eyes there was just playing hawk." Aragorn turned an annoyed glance to the Elf who had now clambered painfully to his feet, the bandage a white patch that stood out against the dark leggings as a reminder of just how stubborn their new acquaintance was.

A loud 'harrumph' from Legolas told those present exactly what he felt about that comment. "For your information, I am not 'old ice-eyes' and you will refrain from calling me that in the future, or you'll wish we'd left you out here for the spider."

Farlest's eyes glittered dangerously, "I wouldn't be so sure of that, friend." His deft fingers caressed the hilt of his dagger in an inconspicuous, yet noticeably dangerous motion.

Aragorn moved over and grabbed Farlest's wrist. "None of that. We have a long way to go, and we would have you at least go to the edge of the forest with us, for I will not leave you here. So you and Legolas are just going to have to get along." He raised his eyebrows at the prince in warning.

Legolas glared daggers, but nodded slowly, in an almost reluctant gesture. Everything in him screamed that this elf was not one to be trusted, he reminded the elf of a serpent or a fox. Smart, fast, lethal. But perhaps with that wound, he would not be half so capable. But then again, trust had never been one of the prince's strong points. It was hard to gain, but once gained, not easily lost. He had learned not to trust easily long ago. And a hard learned lesson it was.

Reaching out a hand to Farlest he gave a slight smile, his face suddenly brightened in friendliness. A willingness to try to understand this stranger. After all, hadn't Aragorn been strange to him once?

Farlest gave a skeptical glance at the proffered hand, reaching his own out tentatively, he was suddenly pulled into a friendly embrace.

"Welcome to the company, Farlest."

A genuine smile graced the other's features, a smile that reached all the way to the emerald eyes. "Hannon le, I would be pleased to be of your company. I am in debt to your friend."

He nodded towards Aragorn, who mouthed, 'I told you so' at the blonde archer.

"Here, lean on me." Farlest put his arm around the prince's shoulder, thankful for the support, his leg was sending shards of pain jolting through him at every step and the relief of pressure brought an inexpressible respite.

Hobbling their way back to where they had left the horses, there came the expedient problem of riding arrangements. And it seemed that both Elves were determined to make a scene.

"I am not riding with Goldy. He looks like he's gonna bite my head off."

"What's the matter? Scared?"

"You call me that again, ice eyes and I'll chase you from Mirkwood to Mordor, bad leg or no!"

"I told you what would happen if you called me THAT again!"

"ENOUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Bellowed Aragorn. Did the Valar have no mercy that he should be stuck with these two? There was no justice in Arda it seemed.

"If you two cannot settle this agreeably I will sling you over the saddle like a knapsack and haul you all the way to Dale."

Farlest smirked, "Now that I would like to see..." His eyes darted momentarily to Legolas and his grin widened.

"As would I." Said Legolas, openly sneering at the other.

Just then, Aragorn moved forward, put on arm around each elf, and effectively banged their heads together.

"Ow! Hey, there was no call to be doing that." Moaned Farlest, rubbing his forehead.

"You're going to pay for that, Strider." Threatened Legolas darkly, "And you know I can do it too."

Aragorn just watched them calmly, his composure never wavered, "Farlest. My horse. NOW!"

It was amazing to watch the speed at which the elf complied, still mumbling under his breath. Aragorn caught the words: 'ranger' 'bloody' and 'flay', and chuckled. Yes, he really was getting to them this time.

Legolas had already mounted and as Aragorn swung himself up in front of Farlest, turned a triumphant look to Farlest. Behind the ranger's back, of course.

As they rode on, Aragorn heard the elf behind him grinding his teeth. The ranger sighed heavily. This was going to be a very long trip.


	3. Rescuing the Renegade

For the Disclaimer and stuff, see part one please.

Oh, and Trinka, I am writing that Legolas ficcy. I think I told you that though. Thanks for your input. You too, Claudia. grin you ladies give me the giggles every time.

Okeeey day, this is part three... please bear with me as this story took on a life of it's own. Somebody asked me to explain Farlest and one of my darned plot bunnies came up with this. The angst here is emotional, sorry, Aragorn and Legolas are on hold. Flashbacks are like this.

Part Three

Rescuing the Renegade

_Glorfindel growled. This day had not gone well. He was soaking wet and felt about as happy as an Orc with a hangover. Not to mention he had found himself in somewhat hostile territory. The people in the district mistrusted Elves and were quick to see them off. They were, fortunately close enough to Rivendell that they knew the benefits of treating the immortals civilly. But now...well, the Balrog-Slayer had heard a disturbing rumor and meant to get to the bottom of it._

_It was well past midnight and he had not meant to be stranded here, but Asfaloth had managed to hurt his right foreleg in some brambles and the nearest shelter had just happened to be Calyn. The last place he had wanted to spend the night. He had managed a degree of inconspicuousy at the local inn, sitting as far away from the main proceedings as possible, and minding his own business. Then the words 'elf' and 'thief' had caught his attention. _

_Apparently there had been a recent outbreak of crime in the village, which had been traced back to an elf. That in itself was incredibly odd. The second fact was that upon inquiry, the said elf had been described as a 'wild creature' 'villain' and 'rogue'. Not the usual titles bestowed upon an elf. Of course, mused Glorfindel, There had been a few..._

_But the fact that had most concerned him was that the elf, whoever he was, was to be hanged on the morrow. And that, Glorfindel could not allow._

_One of the young men at the tavern had given directions to the jail-keeper's house. Of course, that was only after Glorfindel had grabbed him by the collar and demanded to know, and when angry, the golden-haired seneschal tended to look more like the Balrog he was so famous for killing instead of any decent, civilized being, so it was no small wonder that the youth complied with due haste._

_Banging on the wooden door that marked the humble home of the unsuspecting jail keeper, the impatient elf-lord nearly hit the fellow over the head mid-knock when the door opened, revealing a bleary-eyed, stout, and decidedly disgruntled man in his nightclothes. _

"_Whaddya want?" He barked, seeming not the least bit startled at seeing an angry elf at his door on a rainy night._

_Glorfindel glared, and the man had the decency to look at least passably frightened. Especially when the Balrog-Slayer made a sound that could only be interpreted as a growl._

"_I hear you're holding an elf in your jail. Is this true?" The elf, being approximately six feet five inches tall, towered over the squat jailor, who gulped visibly._

_Wringing his hands in his nightshirt, he began making hurried pacifications. "We have every right to hold him, sir. We caught him stealin' and it ain't the first time he's done it, nor the dozenth. He's an evil one, him. Not a good bone left in his body, nearly killed one of ours trying to get away the other night. Don't hardly say a world, he's gone wild. Looks like a wild thing too, peering at us with those shifty eyes..."_

_Glorfindel held up a hand, silencing the frantic man, and gave a glare, complete with eyebrow, that would have done Elrond proud. _

"_Can I see him?"_

_The man looked at the elf as if seeing him for the first time. "Well you looks to be one that can take care of hisself. But you gotta keep one hand on that sword of yours, this young'un will slit yer throat before you can say 'elf'. He's that quick." He motioned that the elf was to follow him, and grabbing a set of keys from inside the door, shuffled out into the night._

_The elf-lord sighed. What was going on here? _

_Glorfindel stayed close behind the groggy jailor, nearly tripping on the man's heels once or twice._

_They reached a low building near the outskirts of town. To Glorfindel, this did not seem a prime location, as any prisoner who escaped would have a better chance of escaping unseen into the surrounding forest and mountains. He mentally filed that away. Just in case. _

_For the condemned elf, time had ceased to exist. It was just long, rarely interrupted silence in this place. But it would all end soon. The guard had been taunting the elf with his imminent execution. Telling him how much he would enjoy seeing the immortal 'get what was coming to him'._

_He had almost laughed in the heckler's face. He wasn't afraid to die. To his way of thinking it was long overdue. To himself, he was unforgivable, a cold-blooded murderer deserving of whatever came to him. He'd sold his soul to the darkness and could never be redeemed; a prodigal son of a proud race who could not come home because of his own self-condemnation. _

_He chuckled mirthlessly. If he chose to return to darkness, to give in now, he could escape from here. Death, chaos and destruction would be the result, but he, the Son of Dark Spirit, would walk from the blood and flames unscathed. If only..._

"_I will not." He ground out. Realizing that he was reciting a spell in his mind unconsciously. How easy, how...swift would be the utter desolation of not only this settlement, but of all he had worked so hard to achieve. He had fought the darkness, and won. But that did not stop the feelings and temptations from returning in difficult circumstances._

_The door creaked open again and the bedraggled elf, having given up his last chance, hung his head in despair._

_Glorfindel could not stop the slight gasp that escaped his lips as they entered the dark cell. _

_The elven prisoner was so dirty as to be unrecognizable. His hair had a muddy-brown, matted appearance, but it could have been any color it was so filthy. The elf wasn't chained. His neck and wrists were entrapped in shackles that were fastened directly to the stone wall, preventing any movement whatsoever. Glorfindel wondered how long it had been since the elf had slept, as he was unable to lie down and to go limp would have strangled him. _

_The renegade's head rose slowly, gazing at the intruders with glazed, uncomprehending eyes._

_It took just about every bit of will in the elf-lord not to strangle the tubby jailor. _

_But the little man, oblivious to the mood of his rather dangerous companion, rattled on aimlessly, rather proud of himself._

"_We 'ad rather a 'ard time with him, sir. He's a dangerous brute he is."_

_Glorfindel towered over him in a gloriously threatening display of elven rage. "Then I suppose you won't mind me taking him off your hands, will you?" he growled through his teeth, trying to keep his famed temper from causing him to do anything he would regret later. Though how much he would regret it was seriously in question. _

_The poor pathetic representation of humanity in front of him wrung his hands in a combination of fear and apprehension. "Sir, I can't do that. You know I can't. The people hereabouts will think I've shirked my duty, they might even...hang me!" the fellow rubbed his throat absentmindedly at the gruesome thought._

_Glorfindel's eyebrows headed for his hairline, "And isn't that exactly what you were planning to do to him?"_

"_Well uh, yessir, but he..." he waved his hands around as if grasping for an answer that would appease the elf, and eventually just hung his head in defeat, but not before spluttering and making some extremely agitated noises that reminded the Balrog-slayer more of a strangled orc than anything human._

"_That's what I thought." There was a decidedly satisfied tone in the elf's voice. He reached his hand out in a demanding gesture. "Where are the keys?"_

_With a resigned sigh the man handed them over, thinking frantically for a way to explain this less than normal situation to the townsfolk the next day. Perhaps he could say that a formidable bandit had held him at knifepoint and forced him to give over the keys. And of course he could recommend a manhunt and throw any suspicion from his own person. The jailor cheered up considerably at this idea and decided that he would leave now, so if the elves were seen leaving he could have an excellent alibi._

_Glorfindel did not even notice the man's hasty retreat. He stepped into the cell, fitting the keys to the locks, deft fingers undoing the cruel restraints. He released one manacle and reached for the other, but as he turned the key in the lock, firm finger's wrapped themselves tightly about his wrist._

"_Is it time?"_

_The hoarse whisper of the imprisoned elf cut Glorfindel to the core. An elf that had lost his hope was this one; he was ready to die. The elf-lord had to force down feelings of intense revulsion for the people who had done this, as well as the telltale lump in his throat._

"_No." he answered softly. "It is not your time. Nor shall you time come here, in this place. I have come to take you from here."_

Please. Don't. Kill. Me.

But do review. I like reviews....


	4. And You Were Going Where?

Hey guys, this is kind of a short update. It was going to be longer, but as people complain about how long it takes me too write. I thought I might as well. Thank you everyone for the lovely reviews. I live on your support.

-Estelrond

A Star Wept for Me

Part Four

And You Were Going Where?

_The elf's laugh was dry and humorless as Glorfindel finished releasing him from his bonds and he nearly fell into the elf-lord's arms. He steadied himself by grasping Glorfindel's shoulder. "You shouldn't have gone to the trouble." Muttered the elf._

_"Oh no trouble at all." grunted Glorfindel cheerily as he let the elf lean on his shoulder. Hefting the elf, who he found, unsurprisingly, to be abnormally light, the elf-lord proceeded in making his exit from what he now deemed to be one of the most detestable concentrations of humanity between Mordor and the Shire._

_"No, I mean it. I don't need your help." Declared the other defiantly, attempting to wrest himself from his rescuers hold. Under normal circumstances it might have worked, but he had been considerably weakened by starvation and abuse...and also Glorfindel was built strongly for even an elf. _

_"Not a chance." Replied the blonde firmly; pulling the other closer with steady hands. He was seriously worried for both the physical and mental state of the elf he had just rescued. He absently wondered what on Arda he'd gotten himself into. Not that he wouldn't have done it again of course._

_Half dragging, half carrying the semi-conscious elf out the door, Glorfindel decided it might be more prudent to just carry the fellow. Taking him in his arms, the elf-lord muttered a curse; not because of the burden this elf was, but because he seemed to weigh no more than an elfling._

_Humans were seriously overrated, Glorfindel decided. _

_The streets seemed deserted, but there was no telling in a place like this. There was a sense of lurking menace that seemed to be a permanent feature of this dismal place. There was a persistent itch between his shoulder blades that told Glorfindel he was being watched. His step never faltered, he walked on as if he had sensed nothing. There was no sense tipping the watcher off._

_He had reached the outskirts of the forest, when it happened. Something wasn't right in the air, as if the very forest itself was trying to warn the elves of impending danger._

_"Don't move, elf."_

_Glorfindel gaze was suddenly averted upward. A man sat in the tree just in front of him, a most unremarkable man he would have been, save for the knocked arrow in his bow that was pointed in an extremely dangerous direction._

_Cautiously, and making no sudden moves, the elf set his companion gently down on the ground, and straightened slowly, meeting the man's gaze. This was the last thing they had needed. Glorfindel sighed disgustedly; it had seemed too easy._

_"What do you want?" inquired the elf frostily of the figure that had impeded their escape. _

_"Not much, just your life."_

_"That was rather blunt." Answered Glorfindel. His mind was working quickly, trying to find a way out of this situation; unfortunately, nothing was coming to the fore. He'd have to stall for time until something came to him. It would be a real shame to go through fire and death only to die at the hands of some nasty fellow with an over-developed killing instinct._

_"It's not in my nature to play word games, elf." The fellow was infuriatingly nonchalant._

_"Why do you want to kill me?" asked the elf-lord, "Give me a straightforward answer for that one, my good man."_

_"Simple. I work too hard to keep scum like you out of my town." The man did not seem over concerned, nor did he say this with any force. It was a fact and he stated it like one. The glaring elf-lord seemed to impose no threat whatsoever._

_"You certainly seem to enforce your opinion quite effectively." Stated Glorfindel calmly, his face stonily impassive._

_"I intend too." The man reinforced his words by pulling back the arrow, and then, he let it fly._

tbc

Two cliffies in a row? Oh I'm soooo bad...

Please Review.


	5. You Are Not Who You Seem

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimers and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though.

Sorry this chapter is short, but the fanged plotbunnies said so...

This is for you Carol, I know you're waiting...here. pushes chapter

Part Two

_You Are Not Who You Seem_

_Glorfindel was not afraid. He had faced death before and knew what it meant. But this time it tore at his heart that he had not succeeded. Before, with the Balrog, when he had felt the fire-demon's heat all about him, and pain flaring white-hot, tearing; destroying...he had fulfilled his purpose; had gone to his doom with grim satisfaction. Now, he would die; leave the one he had worked to hard to save in the hands of his tormentors, surrendering him to face his fate. _

_But Glorfindel was not afraid._

_His blue eyes stared heartlessly into the murky brown ones of the man who was daring to cut an immortal life short. He waited, unflinching, for the flash of light between this eternity and the next._

_It never came._

_The arrow streaked by his ear, stirring a lock of golden hair in the wake of its passing but leaving its intended recipient unharmed._

_Silence._

_For a moment Glorfindel wondered if perhaps the man was just a horrid shot, but reconsidered. At this range and angle, there was a very slim chance of a miss. A miracle perhaps? _

_Then the man froze, a look of surprise and horrified astonishment painted on his homely features. His bow fell from nerveless fingers as he slumped forward and toppled headfirst from his perch in the tree, to land before the bewildered elf-lord._

_Glorfindel knelt cautiously, noticing with stunned amazement that his own dagger was embedded in the man's back. Glancing beyond the tree, from where the killing blade must have been thrown, he was only faintly surprised to see the elf he had sprung from jail standing there, a peaceful expression on his face._

"_He was a brute." He remarked tonelessly, meeting the elf-lord's eyes fearlessly, as if challenging him to condemn the deed and the one who had done it. Hard lessons had been learned by this one, and perhaps he had learnt them too well._

_A smile tugged at Glorfindel's lips, had the situation not been so grave he would have found the elf amusing. He estimated that the other was at least several thousand years his younger. _

_But then, it didn't site well with the warrior that he hadn't taken note of the absence of his dagger. The other must have slipped it from his belt sometime during the confrontation._

"_How did you do that?" Glorfindel fixed the younger elf with a scrutinizing glare._

_The other just shrugged; then with considerable nonchalance, he simply lay down on the forest floor and lost consciousness. Had Glorfindel not known the truth of his companion's condition, he would have just assumed that the other had decided to take an impromptu nap on the ground._

"_How do you like that?" mused the elf-lord. He moved forward, and gathering the other up in his strong arms, bore him farther into the forest, putting more distance between him and any likely pursuers._

_Something disturbed him greatly about this whole situation. How had this elf come to be here? Why was he not safely away in some elf-haven? His dark hair and proud bearing marked him as a Noldo. He should have been in Rivendell. Yet he was not. This elf was much more than he seemed._

_Something in the elf's manner tugged at his memory, something he should remember. It lingered there, just on the edges of conscious thought, but lurked in the shadows, refusing to come to the fore. He knew he would remember, he just hoped he remembered before it was too late._

_The elf-lord made slow time with his burden, but when he deemed the amount of distance sufficient enough, he hid the unconscious elf in a clump of brush, leaving his dagger at the other's side in case of attack. Unlikely in this corner of the world, as there had been no signs of pursuit, but as a safeguard._

_Glorfindel then doubled back and retrieved his patient young stallion from where he'd been tethered. The horse giving the elf a beleaguered whuffle and butting him with his nose as a reprimand for being to late._

_He stroked the horse's neck lovingly, "Are you up to carrying me, mellon?" _

_The horse snorted, bobbing his head up and down enthusiastically, he was more than ready to leave this place behind. The elf smiled, it seemed that the Elven steed had quick powers of recovery. Mounting up, he rode back into the forest from which he came, the sleepy town still unaware of the events of the rapidly fading night._

_When the elf came to retrieve the younger elf from his hiding place, he was still sleeping, a peaceful, undisturbed expression on his ageless features. But one had only to look at his beaten body and disheveled appearance to ruin the illusion. _

_The dawn was just breaking through the trees, as the elf-lord carried the younger being to where Asfaloth stood. Putting the freed prisoner atop his patient horse, Glorfindel rode off towards Rivendell, the only logical place to take someone in the hapless elf's condition. _

_The ride that day was blessedly uneventful. Glorfindel's dangerous companion did not awake, and long-suffering Asfaloth was able to keep the pace._

_As shadows lengthened to evening, the two elves came to a small slow-flowing stream; a branch of the Bruinen, and Glorfindel decided that this was as good a place to spend the night as any. _

_It was when he dismounted that his unconscious-up-until-this-point companion began to come to. He struggled violently, evidently unaware of where he was. "No! Leave me be!" He screamed, frantically trying to free himself from the elf-lord's grasp. The blows he was blindly throwing were giving Glorfindel bruises._

"_Sidh...sidh, penneth." Murmured the blonde, into the struggling elf's ear. The sound of his native tongue seemed to pacify the young warrior as storm clouds passed from emerald green eyes and comprehension and understanding replaced the trapped fear that a moment before had contorted the angular features._

"_Oh, it's only you." He muttered, taking in both Glorfindel and the surrounding area in a dispassionate glance. He said nothing of the frenzied efforts of a moment before. His cool nonchalance after what he'd been through both amazed and irked the Balrog-slayer._

"_Yes, it's me." Glorfindel was slightly annoyed; the least this sarcastic young rascal could do was show a little bit of manners in way of thanks. Or at the very very least not act as if Glorfindel was an old, and annoying acquaintance. "We're going to stay here tonight."_

"_I gathered." The other elf nodded._

_If there had been a wall, Glorfindel would have knocked his head against it. "I'll go get some firewood. And you..." he pointed an almost accusatory finger at the bedraggled elf before him, "...are going to take a bath. I've ridden with you long enough to know that you need one."_

_Pulling a spare leggings and tunic from his pack, he threw them in the other elf's direction and stormed off without waiting for an answer; ignoring the look of hurt innocence directed his way. The other elf's attitude and blatant arrogance just grated on his nerves. Elven tolerance had its limits. He really didn't have any intention of gathering firewood; he just needed to get his thoughts in order._

_What had he gotten himself into?_


	6. Like A Son

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimers and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie.(plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.) I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers, I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

sigh flashbacks WERE in italics, but now we're doing a flashback within a flashback. (Confusing I know) So only the second flashback will be in italics. Except Yahoo doesn't like italics, so it'll be marked with these …ok I will shut up now.

Part Six

_Like a Son_

_I... I came here by day, but I left here in darkness_

_And found you, found you on the way_

_And now, it is silver and silent, it is silver and cold_

_You, in somber resplendence, I hold_

_-AFI_

It seemed to be his mission in life, he mused, rescuing hapless souls at his own expense. His entire life seemed to be dedicated to serving others. Not what most deemed a fitting task for a warrior of his prowess. Strangely enough he found he did not mind, in fact, he knew that if given the chance he would have made the same decisions over again. Though he might want to find a better way to deal with Balrogs.

Going farther downstream, he stripped off his outer garments and took a long swim in the gently flowing brook. It cooled off both his body and his temper.

Clambering out of the water, Glorfindel lay on the cool grass beside the stream, letting the sun and caressing breeze dry him. The scene was tranquil in a way that the Balrog-slayer had rarely known it. It had been so long…

_"What're you doing?" asked a young voice curiously, interrupting the silence the blonde warrior had been so enjoying. _

"_Swimming." He replied, snapping the word out irritably. It was rare that one got a chance to be alone in Gondolin, and this shaded pool had been Glorfindel's favorite place of escape…that is until now._

"_What for?" The voice came again. _

_Glorfindel turned to give a particularly agitated answer (It had been a trying day and his temper was not very long in shorting out on a good day) but was stopped short when he saw the speaker._

_It was a young elf probably somewhere between the ages of 50-100. Obviously old enough to be wearing the ornate dagger he had on his belt apparently. He was a very strange young elfling, his hair was glossy black, but seemed unruly, with a stray lock that refused to stay out of his eyes despite the intricate braids, and those eyes, they seemed to be emerald pools that held a wisdom beyond their years. But above all else, this youngster seemed innocent, and a little stubborn._

"_What for?" He asked persistently. _

_Glorfindel sighed, giving up the idea of relaxation, "Because the day is hot, and the water is cool. It helps me to relax."_

_The youngster nodded thoughtfully, then plopped down on the bank gracelessly, "Why do you need to relax?"_

_The blonde warrior pulled himself out of the water and sat next to the elfling. "Sometimes, when one has a very trying day attempting to train a score or so of untrained young warrior hopefuls, one looses one's temper and needs to relax so they don't get angry and do something that they later wish they hadn't." he explained, after all, the little elf hadn't been trying to annoy him, he was just curious, as young ones were wont to be._

"_Maybe that's why, then." The youngster mused quietly._

"_Why what?" asked Glorfindel, slightly puzzled at this enigmatic answer._

_The elfling turned sad, soulful eyes upwards, "Why Ada's always mad. Maybe he needs to relax too." It was an innocent statement, but had aroused the blonde warrior's interest._

"_Who is your Ada, penneth?" He questioned. He didn't know the little elf, but perhaps he knew his father, and could see if anything could be done. The situation was obviously detrimental to the young elf and Glorfindel might be able to help. Perhaps his Ada was a soldier that simply needed time off. That he could do something about._

"_Morifaer." Replied the elfling._

_Ah._

_Now Glorfindel understood. Morifaer was the closest friend of Maeglin, nephew of the king, and none had been in good spirits lately. Maeglin was in a foul mood over the matter of Idril Celebrindal, who had left him behind in favor of Tuor, a mortal man who was in high favor with the king. It was an odd situation, and one that was somewhat unsettling to Glorfindel, who , warrior though he was, preferred an orderly, peaceful way of things, in contrast to the political turmoil that was running rampant within the king's inner circle._

_Glorfindel had never really like Morifaer. He was a dark, brooding individual who had an disquieting aura of power and proud, haughty manner. He was also known to have a foul temper. His wife was hardly better, Moralindir was a fiercely passionate, commanding woman who liked to have her way. She was also extremely gifted. He wondered how the two had managed to get along enough to have any children. _

"_What is your name, Morifaerion?" prodded Glorfindel, seeing the young one drawing in on himself as the warrior had sat in silence._

_The little elf cocked his head, "Farlest. I'm the oldest, I've got a little brother. He likes to bite. Ada says that I'm his little warrior, he's teaching me how to fight. Nana says my little brother's going to be better than me. But I don't think so, he just likes to pull my braids and bite my ankle. Warriors don't bite ankles." _

_The little elf continued to rattle on, and Glorfindel listened. Farlest alternately amused and worried him as he continued his seemingly endless one-sided conversation with the tall elf sitting beside him. And the warrior listened. Farlest probably didn't have anyone to listen to him at home, and Glorfindel thought to relieve some of his loneliness. After a while, he wondered how the raven haired elfling managed to keep going, as he didn't seem to pause for breath. _

"_I like using a dagger and sword at the same time, do you ever use a sword and dagger at the same time? I think it works better, so if your enemy gets to close you can get them with the knife instead of the sword, or if you're in real trouble you can throw the knife. Ada says it's silly to fight with a knife and a sword but I don't, do you think it's silly? I can't shoot a bow real well yet, but I'm getting better, Ada says we can't hunt though cuz it's not safe. I think I would like hunting, have you ever gone hunting? Ada says the city is hidden, so the Balrogs and dragons won't come. Have you ever seen a Balrog? I wanna see a Balrog. Ada says he'll get me a horse for my next birthday. I hope it's black. Do you have a horse? You swim really well. I don't know how to swim, Nana says I don't need to swim. I think I do. Could you teach me to swim?"_

_The elfling finally stopped chattering and looked expectantly up at his companion. It took a moment for Glorfindel to sort out exactly which answer Farlest was waiting for._

"_I suppose." He replied, hoping he was answering the right question from the myriad of inquiries thrown his way in the past few minutes._

"_Oh good!" the elfling was delighted. "Could you teach me tomorrow? Nana is probably making dinner and if I don't get home soon I won't get any."_

_Glorfindel smiled, the talkative little fellow already enamored him. "Run along then, Farlest. I'll see you tomorrow."_

_The raven-haired youngster sprang up from his place beside the blond and dashed up the garden path. Just before he disappeared over the hill he turned back. "What's your name?" he called back, obviously having just remembered that he didn't know the identity of his newfound friend. _

"_Glorfindel."_

_Farlest grinned, " 'k, see you tomorrow, 'Findel!" He waved happily and sped off down the hill and vanished from the warrior's sight._

_That was the beginning of a long and fulfilling friendship. Farlest's visits in the garden quickly became the highlight of Glorfindel's days. The little fellow showed up like clockwork, always eager and exuberant. It was a refreshing relief from the tedium of the drills and training exercises that the warrior led for Gondolin's army._

_The warrior quickly became Farlest's best friend and confidante. He told him all his secrets, both the little, childish things and the important ones. Glorfindel soon found that his young friend was somewhat moody, and his moods were dictated by the level of hostility between his parents. _

_As the years passed, he became frustrated as he told of his mother's constant instigating of rivalry between he and his younger brother, whom he loved to distraction. It hurt him that his mother seemed to think he was inferior in some way. While his father thought that Farlest was far superior to his younger sibling. Glorfindel came to understand that Morifaer and Moralindir used their children as weapons in their constant power struggle. _

_It was no wonder that Morifaer had chosen his eldest in the familial conflict as Farlest was an eager learner and a genius with weapons. Glorfindel found that sparring with Farlest was harrowing and that, unlike with the unseasoned trainees that were his usual rivals, he had to sincerely try, to put his heart into it, when he sparred the younger elf. Also, Farlest didn't have a firm grasp on the rules that usually dictated such contests. The warrior soon found that Farlest's 'dirty' fighting tactics had been taught to him by his father. Glorfindel had his own suspicions as to exactly what his young friend's parent was training him to be. After all, the cunning combination of stealth, ingenuity, creativity, and less than above-board fighting tactics usually meant only one thing. Assassin. And if Farlest was destined to be an assassin, Glorfindel certainly had no wish to have his young friend hunting him. He sincerely doubted his chances in such a circumstance._

_Glorfindel was somewhat successful in teaching the elfling a code of honor that had been a deliberate oversight in his otherwise thorough training. As the years passed, the warrior realized that the budding warrior was more a son to him than just a friend. He found that he loved the elfling and was genuinely concerned with his well-being._

_And Farlest was happy to assume the role, still blissfully unaware of the importance of 'Findel, in Gondolin._

_One day, while sitting on 'their' bank by the small pool, Farlest confided in his friend that there was a maiden in whom he was interested. _

"_Have you talked to your father about her?" asked the elf-lord._

_Farlest plucked a blade of grass, "Why would I do that. He wouldn't listen anyway. And if he did he'd probably disapprove. He spends so much time with his friend at the palace that he doesn't have time for me anyway. So I'm taking her to the festival today. She's really a jewel, Fin." His eyes became dreamy and he stood, fiddling with the blade of grass and staring into space. _

"_Well meet me here tonight and tell me how it goes." Glorfindel was glad for the young warrior and was confident that if he was truly fascinated with this girl then there was no need to worry. He was looking forward to their meeting tonight. He wouldn't mind if Farlest was a little late. _

_If only he had known what the night would bring._

_The celebration was still underway when Glorfindel met Farlest at their garden refuge. The younger elf's retelling of the day's events wasn't quite coherent, but that was to be expected. The young elf lady had obviously been thrilled with her young suitor and they had had a splendid time._

_Glorfindel and his young protégé were sharing a comfortable silence when all hell broke loose…_

Glorfindel winced at the memory. The unthinkable had happened that night, and Gondolin had come under attack, had been defeated. There had been fighting throughout the city and Farlest had stayed with him through it all. He had been there when Idril had come to him and told him to hasten, as she had prepared a secret escape route in case of attack. Farlest had been there when they emerged into daylight once more. But he had taken a rearguard position, and had watched helplessly, unable to get to his friend who had been the only real father-figure in his life, as he fought a foe against which there was no chance of victory. Glorfindel had only caught a glimpse of Farlest during his duel with the fire-demon, and there was despair and horror in those deep emerald eyes. That was the last he had seen of him. And the last thing he had heard in that lifetime had been Farlest screaming his name. But he did not like to remember the young warrior that way. They had said goodbye as they entered the tunnel, just in case.

_"This may be the end, Farlest." Said Glorfindel quietly, his voice oddly calm in light of the danger they were in._

"_Don't say that, Fin! We won't die! I won't let us!" his young friend was adamant, still being of the age where there was nothing beyond his capabilities to his way of thinking. _

"_No, Far, there is not much chance that either of us shall survive this day." The elf warrior saw that there were tears in the other's eyes, and knew that they were threatening to spill from his own as well. "I-" he choked on the words, wrapping the other in a fierce hug, he wept, oblivious to the chaos around them._

"_Fin, please…" pleaded the raven-haired elf softly. His voice was so lost, so hopeless. It nearly broke Glorfindel's heart._

_He drew in a ragged breath as he fought the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him, "No. There is no other way. If we survive this, it will be an unlooked for mercy from the Valar. Im meleth lle. Namarie, ion-nin."_

_The warrior drew his sword, and didn't look back, ignoring the despairing cries from the one he loved more than life itself. If he died today, he would make sure it was so that Farlest could live._

Glorfindel could feel unshed tears sting his eyes as he remembered. He wondered if Farlest was still alive. Or whether he had been one of those slain by orcs, or found his end elsewhere.

Speaking of ends…

He suddenly remembered the young vagabond he had left back at camp. _"How long have I been here?" _he wondered. Hopefully the rascal hadn't made off with his horse.

Tbc

I love my Glorfindel! 


	7. Son of Heart

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimers and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you.

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

Gah, I think this is almost the end. We will flashback later for certain, but this is it for now. Next chapter we go back to the boys. My brain can't take much more of this. And I could do without Farlest would stop writing his own history. There's some stuff in here that he couldn't possibly have done. Grrr….I think 'Ros has been in here too. Oh you don't know about 'Ros? Well hang onto your hats (Or whatever happens to be around) and you'll see in another chapter or three. Trust me, you'll enjoy this guy. Darn am I a sucker for red hair.

Ok, I am seriously rambling. I will blame this on my many squabbling plot bunnies and the naughty little muse who keeps whispering in my ear.

Part Seven

_Son of My Heart_

**I am crossing the bridges of sorrow  
Empty with yearning and full of tomorrow  
The river is high and the bridges are burning  
I know I've been hurt but I keep on returning**

**-October Project **

_It was the blonde warrior who brought the remembering. So often something or someone would trigger a memory, and one of the lost pieces would fall into place. His memory had returned very reluctantly and was still not complete. Some of his past he'd rather have done without. Some of it had shocked and appalled him. And now another gap was being filled._

_And, as always, the remembering was anguish._

_He lay curled on the bank, in as small a ball as he could make himself. Pain bursting like white star fire through his head, he gasped, long sobbing breaths, while trying desperately to ignore the suffering that the breaking of the dam brought._

_Then the memories came. The terrible, barely endurable pain lessened as remembrance returned. And with remembrance came a face._

_And with a face…a name._

_And though the pain had gone, he wept. He cried for what he had lost. Because for once, his eyes must have betrayed him. And disappointment was cruel._

_He almost wished he had not remembered._

_Glorfindel strode into camp. It was already dark and to his relief the young vagabond had not decided to run away, indeed, far from it. For he had built a small fire that sent pangs of guilt through the warrior, as he remembered the firewood he had supposedly gone off to gather when he had made his ignominious exit earlier._

_There was also a rabbit roasting on a spit. A wordless tribute to the skill of the younger elf, for he had had no weapons at his disposal save the dagger which Glorfindel had left with him._

_The dark-haired elf sat before the fire, his back to the golden warrior behind him, seemingly unaware of his approach. Asfaloth had apparently taken a liking to the gaunt being and lay behind him, as the elf leaned gently into the horse's flank, taking comfort from the touch of another, friendly, being._

_Glorfindel moved forward and sat beside them, the elven steed and his silent companion. The younger elf said nothing, only stared into the flames that made shimmering waves dance in his clean, silken, black hair. And Glorfindel, for one of the first times in his long life, thought, just for a moment, that he might be on the verge of fainting and he was rendered utterly speechless. His heart was in his throat, and his chest seemed painfully tight as he battled the emotions that the sight of this, this wild elf, brought to him._

_The elf beside him was older, surely than he had been and his body showed the fearful price that starvation and hardship had demanded of it. And those eyes, those fathomless, emerald eyes had had the innocence stripped from them brutally, to be replaced by a haunted, tortured gaze that was a mirror of the elf's soul._

_But there was no way he could be mistaken for anything other than who he was. _

_His skin, now washed free of dirt and grime, was flawless and perfect. His angular features, made more acute by the brutality of his recent years, were highlighted ethereally by the blaze into which he stared so intently._

_And his hair, no longer a muddy color and no longer coarse and unkempt, streamed down his back in a glossy, raven wave._

_So perfect. _

_Save for the torment in his eyes, embodied in the tear that coursed down his cheek. One solitary tear that betrayed the impassiveness he was trying so desperately to convey._

_Glorfindel felt unshed grief stinging his own eyes. "Look at me." He said the words softly, but they were a command nonetheless. And he was amazed to find that his voice still worked after all._

"_I can't." It was only a whisper, roughened by the sorrow that he held so fiercely in check._

"_Why not?"_

_The elf bowed his head, his raven tresses cascaded forward to cover his face from the blonde's view with an impenetrable black curtain._

"_Because I know you can't be who I would wish you to be. And if I look…I-I'll fall apart!" He tried to hard to hide the desperation he felt, but it came through all the same. Glorfindel thought his heart might shatter at the other's pain._

"_Then look." The blonde warrior said gently, "And do not be afraid."_

"_You cannot know!" the younger elf now made no effort to disguise his feelings, "I fear no living being, my lord. I have been hurt too many times and I know the limit of cruelty. There is nothing that I fear." His voice became defiant, but to Glorfindel, the others lie seemed to jump out at him. This elf had so much to fear. Glorfindel was suddenly angry._

"_Who hurt you?" The blonde warrior felt the instinctive vengeance rise in him, and he wanted to get his hands around the throat of whoever had caused the tortured look in those eyes that were too old for the seeming youthfulness of the body they inhabited._

"_They are dead." It was said simply, without feeling or empathy and Glorfindel felt as if he had been cut to the very heart. He had not been there for this elf, this son of his heart._

"_Farlest." The word hung in the air, laden with all the emotion – sadness, love, pain, grief, even anger – that was in the warrior's heart._

_And the other looked at him, finally. It was a reflex, for if Farlest had thought, he would not have chanced a glance at the other. _

_The result was instantly apparent. His features changed, from statuesque to suddenly alive with wonder, fear, and confusion. His lips parted reflexively and a sudden light swirled in those sad green eyes._

"_How? You…" then, without warning, he launched himself into Glorfindel's arms, and sobbed like a frightened child, who has sought his father in the darkness to chase away the terror of his nightmare._

_Glorfindel stroked his hair, and simply held him. "I am so sorry, Farlest. So sorry. I was not there for you, ion-nin."_

"_I thought you were dead." The words were somewhat accusatory._

"_I was." Admitted Glorfindel, "But I came back. I should have sought you out as soon as I returned. I should have and I didn't Farlest, I'm so very sorry."_

_The black-haired elf continued to weep as the golden elf's strong arms held him close. Glorfindel had much to make up for with this son of his, and he would see to it that he would be safe for the rest of his days. If it killed him he would. _

_When Farlest finally ceased to cry, when no more tears would come, he finally let weariness claim him, and for the first time in more years than he wanted to remember, he felt completely and utterly safe._

_Glorfindel leaned gently back against Asfaloth, who waited faithfully beside him. "I'll make it up to you, Farlest. And I'll drive away the terror in your eyes, ion-nin. If it takes the rest of my immortal days I swear I will. And tomorrow, we will go home. And home we shall stay." Planting a fatherly kiss on the top of Farlest's head, he kept watch through the night, dozing ever so slightly in elven dreams, which were suddenly more pleasant._

_TBC_


	8. What the Wolf Cries

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimers and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you.

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

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Part Eight

_What the Wolf Cries _

Aragorn chewed idly on a piece of grass as the three travelers sat around a campfire on the outskirts of Mirkwood. They had made the decision not to press on to Dale that night. Instead reaching the town the next morning. He felt very weary and sincerely wished for the millionth time that he had the stamina of an elf. And today had been wearying in more than the usual manner, and that was entirely due to his two traveling companions.

The first couple of hours had been filled with blessed silence, that is until Legolas' horse without any forewarning whatsoever, began to buck and hop, gleefully attempting to toss the rider from its back. It had been some while before the elf could get his excited mount calmed enough to continue the journey, and the irritated elf immediately blamed Farlest for the mishap. To which the other replied with an insult to the prince's horsemanship. This in turn resulted in a whole string of imaginative and very derogatory remarks. A great deal of which was devoted to calling the other's ancestry into question. This eventually disintegrated into a round of childish "Did not." "Did too". And Aragorn tried his best to ignore the bickering elves, but eventually, his temper boiled over and he gave them a long, and creative lecture at the top of his lungs saying just what he thought about the horse, the ride, the argument, and his two companions in especial.

Maybe not the most recommended method for diplomatic sessions, but the two stared at him for a while, stunned speechless. Satisfied, Aragorn had stalked back to his horse, only to hear what could only be recognized as a snicker.

He whirled around, ready to give another lecture to the guilty party. But the two elves glanced at each other innocently, and then turned big, doleful eyes on the ranger. Throwing up his hands, he had stalked back to his horse.

Things had gone downhill from there.

The two turned from being rivals to conspirators, and before the day was over the ranger lost count of how many times his horse had been spooked or how many stones and other small projectiles had hit him in the back. It made the ride very tedious and glares, threats, and other forms of non-violent communication seemed to have no effect on the pointy-eared menaces riding behind him, for Legolas had insisted that Farlest now ride with him. Aragorn hardly dared guess what devious things might have happened had the impish rogue been seated directly behind him.

They stopped early that night, the harried ranger insisting that they could make Dale in the morning and be no worse for it.

Aragorn built a fire, adding herbs to keep away the moths, and the three settled down, for a while they sat and discussed the next day's ride but once the that subject had disinterested all involved, a comfortable silence settled over the group. Farlest played idly with several twigs and Legolas watched him curiously, his blue-grey eyes hiding whatever impressions the other elf made on him.

Farlest could truly be called beautiful, with fine, angular features and a long, glossy-black cascade of hair that seemed to be tamed save a few disobedient strands that he was continually sweeping out of his eyes. But it was the eyes that caused Legolas' unease. He liked the dark-haired elf, he truly did, but his emerald orbs seemed to hide ancient secrets and torments worthy of Sauron's dungeons, and with the pain, wisdom, ageless wisdom and sorrows untold. There was a great tale in those eyes. One that, someday, Legolas hoped he would know.

But then, the elf, whose youthful body surely hid the weight of millennia, glanced up, searching the surrounding woods furtively.

"There's something out there." Farlest held a hand to stop the movement of his companions, who had made to rise. He rose from his crouch with a feline grace, "I'll go look, probably nothing." But, as if to defy his words, a mournful howl echoed through the woods.

Aragorn shivered involuntary, the sound had come from no warg, but a true wolf, and he seemed to sense the creature's sadness and turmoil. But then the ranger shook his head, for how could one sense that in a creature's wild call? He watched the as the elf, whose manner defied the ranger-like clothes he wore, disappear into the surrounding darkness.

Legolas turned to his friend, "What do you think of him, mellon-nin?" The elf turned on his side and propped himself up on his elbow awaiting the Dunadan's answer.

"He seems good." Aragorn admitted, "But there is something extremely unsettling about him as well, as if a darkness threatens to overshadow the good of him."

"Not overshadow, Aragorn." Mused Legolas, "I think the struggle is not from without, but from within. The darkness is somehow a part of him."

Aragorn sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, "Well, let us pray the light wins."

The wolf had called to him. He could almost feel it. There had been something bone-chillingly familiar to the mournful call.

The darkness was nearly impenetrable save the bulbous eyes that occasionally shone from the leafy canopy above him but they did not dare to disturb the lone elf's movements for something about him seemed to strike dread into even their evil minds.

The night did not frighten him, and it's creatures likewise, he had spent much of his life in more evil places than Mirkwood, and though he knew of more peaceful places, he found the forest almost comforting, the taint in its beauty providing almost a sense of the familiar and the trees called to his elven roots.

But there was a power in his blood that nothing could touch, save another of his kind or the Valar themselves. Well, he was, in essence, an elf, but there was strange blood in the family and it had manifested itself powerfully in Farlest, as his father before him. There weren't many things that could daunt him any more. No, he thought sadly. He had been through just about everything, and he knew the limits of endurance, and he had a clear idea of what exactly was worth fearing.

It was ironic really, having grown to maturity in such a place as Gondolin, full of light and beauty, that the darkness in Middle-Earth had made itself such a part of his life.

It was this ironic thought that had distracted him, so that as when the wolf appeared he was startled by it.

It was a large creature, with reddish fur and strange blue eyes. He'd never seen a wolf with blue eyes before. The animal cocked its head at the elf and the glance seemed almost condescending, as if it was mocking him for keeping so clumsy a watch. Farlest knelt on one knee, moving down to the wolf's level so as not to frighten it, though he sincerely doubted that anything much could scare such a magnificent creature.

If only he could touch it. It hurt to try and communicate to animals otherwise. Other elves could not, unless it was an elven-bred horse, communicate with animals in such a clear manner. Farlest reached a tentative hand towards the wolf, who stepped forward calmly and rested his chin on the elf's welcoming palm.

_Hello Farlest._

The elf jerked back in surprise, "What?" shock was written clearly across his face, he could have sworn the wolf was smirking.

_I said hello, _the thought entered his mind gently, _has it really been so long that you have forgotten me, brother of my heart and friend of the forsaken?_

Then Farlest knew. Reaching forward, he wrapped his arms about the wolf's furry neck, "How can this be? You…you're here, and a wolf…but…but… you-"

_Are dead? Yes, but now you may put that in past tense, I was dead. And I believe, _he raised a paw and eyed it disdainfully, _that this is a cross between judgment and a rather annoying prank on the part of the Valar._

"I wouldn't care if they sent you back as a crow!" Farlest grinned at his friend, "You're here, 'Ros, and you're alive."

_That I am. Now, I must say that your companions will be quite worried by now._

"I almost forgot about them." Admitted the raven-haired elf, "Whatever shall I tell them?"

_They'll take to me all right I think, but we can't tell them everything. And besides that, you and I need to have a chat. There are a few things you need to know about those two._

"Please don't, 'Ros, or I won't be able to keep my conscience clear, you see, I have too-"

_I already know what you're up too, you rogue, and you simply cannot do what you planned. There have to be a few minor adjustments._

Farlest scowled, "'Ros, you're interfering again." He shook his finger at the wolf, who appeared to be grinning toothily.

_That I am. But we you really don't know their importance, Farlest._

"I don't and I don't care. But…" he paused and longing seemed to pass briefly over his features, "I rather like them, 'Ros, they make me feel rather badly about this whole thing."

_That's why we need to talk. _'Ros placed a paw on his friend's knee and gazed up at him. A look that made Farlest rather uncomfortable.

"Now?" Farlest's look was positively pleading.

But his friend's reply was firm, _Now._


	9. Elven Soul

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you.

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

This is probably the quickest update I've ever made…

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**Part Nine**

_Elven Soul_

Here in the shadows  
I'm safe  
I'm free  
I've nowhere else to go but  
I cannot stay where I do not belong  
Show me the shadow where true meaning lies  
So much more is made in empty eyes

--Evanescence

Farlest twisted his stray lock of hair around his finger for what seemed like the millionth time since 'Ros had started to talk. Well, not actually talk. _Send _was probably the better word, for, as a wolf, 'Ros couldn't speak.

"I still don't believe it." Farlest was quite frustrated and had displayed this fact to his furry friend quite openly, "How on earth do I get myself into these messes?"

_It's really quite simple, Farlest. _The wolf sent cheerfully, _You have no luck and an even worse sense of timing._

Farlest glowered down at the unblinking animal, "Thanks." He said dryly. There really was no justice in this world.

_You're quite welcome. _came the reply, the beast seemed oblivious to the fact that his companion had said the word in anything less than a sincere tone, but then, 'Ros had always been that way and Farlest had learned to ignore it.

"You don't have the skill of dropping in at the opportune moment yourself, here I have it, I've worked on it, the revenge I've finally been waiting for, and I can't carry through with it just because part of the plan involves sacrificing one Dunadan!" The elf then had a bout of immaturity and stuck out his lower lip in an extremely child-like pout.

If the wolf could have, he would have clicked his tongue reprovingly, _Now, is that any way for you to act? You know very well that there's only ONE heir of Isildur. If it had been any other ranger we might have let you get away with it. And let's not be stubborn, I can tell that you like him already. You really shouldn't make friends with your expendables, Farlest. I've told you that a thousand times. Besides, what of the Wood Elf? Do you want another kin-slaying on your hands? _

Farlest sighed heavily, "No, 'Ros, going through one has been quite enough for me. How is it that you were wrong back then and right now and I _still _wind up listening to you?"

_Perhaps It's my charming personality. _suggested the wolf teasingly, but though he meant it lightly, he sounded quite serious. He did so enjoy tormenting his friend, which had been his only true enjoyment for longer than he could remember. Oh those foolish days! He had been so young compared to now. If only he had known what he knew now… But he had not, he had been rash, brave, and full of fire. And as a result had made some grave mistakes.

But Farlest allowed him no time for contemplation. "No, 'Ros, it's your personality all right. You have a very magnetic quality to you, and I'm glad, otherwise the mistakes that were made might have been more serious, most of our band were going to take things a step further."

_Nay, Farlest, I don't get off so easily. If it wasn't for you and 'Lor…I-I hate to think what would have happened. I would have been responsible for the deaths of - _The eyes of his friend were so mournful, that Farlest could almost see past the wolf-guise and into the other's soul. Could almost imagine the beautiful and powerful being whose very essence was contained in an animal's body.

And yet, it was fitting, for his personality had been so like the wolf's. It was the only creature that would suit 'Ros. They had been as brother's he and the fiery redhead. They had ridden into battle and death together, and the only time that Farlest had not been allowed to accompany him, his friend had died. So the sadness in the face of the creature that was indeed 'Ros, cut Farlest deeply.

He put his hand on the wolf's neck, his fingers stroking the soft fur, "It was not your fault. And no one died, _mellon-nin_. No one."

'Ros gave a mental sigh, _Well, I suppose we should be getting back now. You're friends will be worried._

"We?" repeated Farlest, nonplussed, "You don't think they'll believe me do you? Well, I mean, that you're- well, you know…" the elf gestured helplessly at his friend as he floundered for an explanation.

'Ros's chuckle seemed to reverberate through his head, _Well, let them figure it out for themselves, just say I'm a friend._

Rolling his eyes, the raven-haired elf gestured back the way he had come, "Well, let's go then. It's no use arguing with you. I'll bet you know everything that I say before I say it."

_Not quite. _remarked 'Ros, _But almost._

xXxXxXx

Aragorn was asleep when Farlest and his friend arrived in camp, Legolas was keeping a silent, faithful vigil over his companion, leaning against a tree next to him. But his peaceful pose was deceptive. As soon as he saw the wolf, his daggers flew to his hands almost faster than the eye could follow. Leaping forward he prepared to do battle, the red-furred wolf snarled and crouched on his haunches, a defensive movement. The elf prince would have slain the animal, save Farlest stepped in front of the animal. Legolas barely pulled his charge short, his knife-tip rested dangerously on the rogue's collarbone.

The elf stared at the blonde; his green eyes were unreadable. "Will you kill me, Legolas?" he asked softly.

Aragorn had awoken when his friend had moved and was staring, transfixed, at the two elves.

The sudden battle-fire in the prince's eyes subsided, sliding away into the depths of those azure orbs. His eyelids lowered and so did his blade as he inhaled deeply, calming himself. Finally meeting Farlest's gaze, Legolas spoke, "No. I will not. But I think an explanation is in order."

The elf in front or him nodded, "Well, this is 'Ros, an old friend of mine." He motioned to the wolf, whose hackles had gone down and sat regarding the elf prince with a fascinated, but peaceful stare.

Legolas' brow wrinkled in confusion, "Friend?"

_I think you're going to have to show him. _'Ros's thought came suddenly.

Farlest ran his hand through his hair, "Here," He grasped the Wood Elf's hand and then placed his other hand on the wolf's head.

_Hello, Legolas. _

The elf's lips parted and his eyes widened in wonder, and his gaze went questioningly to Farlest.

"It's not me." He assured, "It's him."

Legolas released the dark haired elf's hand and put both his hands on the wolf, one on either side of his head, and gazed intently into the strange cerulean eyes. For a moment, no one spoke, then the prince cried out in something akin to outrage and incredulity.

"Aragorn! This…this is an elf!"

To be continued… 

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**Carol: **Yes, I went from funny to chilling, it's going to get worse before the end.

**Aranna Undomiel: **Well, 'Ros is an elf in essence, and Farlest knew him waaaay back in the when. He died, but was sent back. He has a job to do and probably knows more than the rest of the guys put together. I hope that relieves some of your confusedness, but by the end of the story, everything will be cleared up. (oh, and my spell-check says confusedness is a word_. ::grin:: )_

_Námaríë_

-Elven Dreamer


	10. The Price of Knowledge

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you.

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

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**Part Ten**

_The Price of Knowledge _

_Bury my lovely,_

_Buried alive,_

_Bury me under a thousand good bye's._

_A shadow from another time, _

_Is waiting in the night._

_Something hidden in the cold, _

_Something that will not let go._

_-October Project_

Legolas' gaze was riveted to the sapphire ones of 'Ros. Unable to draw himself away, he found himself drawn into the other somehow. Reality faded about him, and all became hazy, and pastel colors shifted lazily about them, sometimes accented by a pulsating red or blue. It was a dream-like world, and the elf-prince felt the emotions of the soul that had once inhabited the body of an elf.

Sorrow, wisdom, and strength seemed to swirl like a slow and inexorable maelstrom, but underlying it was a fierce fire, that could flare, dangerously, if given the opportunity, and a vibrant passion. And it was old, older than anything Legolas had ever met before. Visions of times past, the elf's memories, flashed before the prince, and he caught a glimpse of something that took his breath away…two trees, dazzling…enthralling in their radiance. They were only there for the space of a second, but when they passed it seemed leave an emptiness that Legolas had never known existed.

Then, the bearer of these memories appeared before him, and all other thoughts were driven from his mind.

His long hair swirled about him like a copper halo, whipped about by an unseen wind. His eyes, burning with blue fire, seemed to pull you into himself. The very presence of the elf was commanding and nobility shone from his features that were, though clearly male, could not be called anything but beautiful. Legolas knew in an instant that he had never met an elf like this before. This was not a scholar, but a warrior, yet, he probably knew more than Elrond, perhaps even more than Galadriel herself. And power, it radiated off him in great waves. The strength of his spirit threatened to overpower one such as the elf prince's, but Legolas could feel the other holding back, so as not to unintentionally harm the guest who had been invited to abruptly into his mind. A bright light shone about him, the nimbus of it being the elf himself, he seemed so substantial, yet, it was all illusion.

_Not all beautiful, is it, Legolas. _The lips moved to form the words, but the Mirkwood Elf knew that he did not have too.

"No," said Legolas, remembering the bloody battles he had only gotten glimpses of, and the memories of rage that had accompanied the images….and the horrific grief that followed. And frustration as well, though the prince could not imagine why, "No, 'Ros, it's not all beautiful…"

The smile that graced those ageless features was mirthless, _You are wise, young one. You do not flatter like so many others, impressed by my presence and prowess and willing to grovel at my feet and pledge their lives to my service, but then, those were strange times. Too long ago…too long…_

"How long, 'Ros?" Legolas asked.

_Longer than any save one on Middle-Earth can remember. All other have passed away…Even I have passed._

Legolas reached a hand towards the red-haired elf, his heart stirred by the sorrow the other felt. He wanted to help, somehow, though how he could help one so powerful was beyond him. "Tell me, how did you pass?"

XXxXxXxXx

Aragorn and Farlest were becoming worried. The blonde elf and the auburn-furred wolf had been in a trance-like state for nigh on an hour. The dark-haired elf leaned against a tree as his eyes followed the ranger as he paced. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"Cease that, Strider. You're making this worse." He chided.

The man stopped and glared at him, "I can't just sit here! They could be in trouble. Or stuck maybe."

Farlest sighed heavily, some people never learn. "You were raised in Rivendell, correct?"

"How did you know that?" questioned Aragorn sharply, confusion and suspicion etched on his face.

"I was in Rivendell…for a time." The elf's reply was soft, and he seemed grieved as if a weight had suddenly settled upon him and dampened his exuberant spirit.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The pain in those cerulean eyes seemed to find an echo in Legolas' heart, he wanted, almost desperately to know how one so very noble had fallen so far.

_Would you know, Legolas? Would you know, little elf prince…would you feel? _

Somehow the fact that 'Ros knew his identity did not seem to trouble him, as they were, to some extent, sharing each other's thoughts. "Yes, I would know. Show me." He felt a great uncertainty as he said this, not knowing why.

The warrior before him reached out his hand, a great expression of sadness and, Legolas thought, pity. The Wood Elf touched, and then grasped the extended hand, lacing his fingers in the elf-lord's, which felt solid, and not ephemeral at all. And the mesmerizing swirl of colors suddenly disappeared into nothingness, as he was overwhelmed with sensations unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Pain, there was horrible pain. Fire, and ash, then heat, searing and unbearable, the feeling of your body being burned away….

Legolas screamed.

To be continued… 

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Merry Christmas, have a cliffie…

**Carol: **I know you didn't want more torment, but I DID warn you…

**Aranna Undomiel: **That may have cleared up a little more, or maybe it made you more confused, I don't know. Either way, we'll soon know more.

**Lady of Light: **Glad you like Farlest. I rather like him myself! _::grin::_

**Navaer Lalaith: **Well, there isn't a ton of Elvish in my stories, better safe than sorry. It's such a beautiful language and I don't want to mangle it.

_Namárië_

-Elven Dreamer


	11. Call Him Back

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you.

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

This chapter is for Tim, who came bravely to the aid of Elven Justice with a lightsaber.

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**Part Eleven**

_Call Him Back _

When Legolas' screamed, Aragorn was at his side in a moment. The elf fell backwards, and his cry trailed off as he fell unconscious into the man's arms. "What did you do?" he asked, and though the desperate query was mostly directed at 'Ros, it was also in part asked of Farlest. Just that someone, anyone would give him an answer, so that he would know what ailed his friend and how he might help.

The glazed look in the wolf's eyes disappeared as he became aware of his surroundings.

_I'm sorry. _The thought crept softly into the ranger's mind, _H-he wanted to know, and I have been alone so long, I may have underestimated myself. I did not mean to hurt him._

But there was no forgiveness in Strider's stone-hard gaze. "What had he ever done to you? Did Farlest put you up to this?"

'Ros shook his head, _It was an accident; he was not prepared for what he found. You must believe this. _he was profoundly sorry for whatever damage he may have done to the young Sindar, he only could hope it was not permanent, he was also trying to keep his blazing temper under control. The ranger's behavior rankled something in him.

"I do not have to believe anything! My friend has just been hurt. In what way or how badly I do not know! But I do know this, he would not have been hurt had you not been here." Aragorn growled. 'Ros and Farlest could both see that the ranger was in no way ready to be reasonable.

_You may have to help, Farlest. I am a great warrior, but no healer. _The dark-haired elf could see that his friend felt very guilty. Under usual circumstances he would have been unwilling to show any of the skills that he could find of use in this situation, but since is was 'Ros…

Leaning forward, he placed a calming hand on the ranger's shoulder, "Here, let me help." He offered, placing gentle fingertips on the elven archer's chest.

But Aragorn, still wrathful, slapped his hand away. "We don't need your help." He said in a clipped tone, "Haven't you done enough already?"

_He is a gifted healer, Estel o i Dunedain. Trust him._

The ranger faced the strange wolf with a sardonic gaze, "I really don't have much choice do I?"

_Life is fraught with ironies, young one. _Aragorn could have sworn he heard a mental chuckle.

Farlest sat beside Legolas, across from his vengeful friend, his eyes were open and honest, "If I hurt him, you may kill me."

Strider's eyes widened at the soft declaration the elf had just made, but he nodded, hearing the sincerity in the simple statement, and from the look on his face, Farlest knew that the man would kill him if he felt his friend threatened.

He placed the tips of his fingers on the fallen elf's temple, and then…he reached. When he touched the fire within him he always felt rejuvenated, stronger, but always when he used it, it was to be given away. He washed the pure healing energy over the Wood Elf's mind, cleansing and restoring. He winced as he felt a throb of pain himself. 'Ros had damaged something all right. He could still sense Aragorn, and 'Ros beside him, but they were fainter, and all he could feel was the other elf. Legolas.

He suddenly felt weaker, as some of his own life force ebbed away. It would return in a short time, but it was always tiring. He felt a surge of satisfaction as he realized his job was done. Moving his digits from the blonde's face, he sighed heavily and let his tense body relax as the world moved fully into focus again. He met Aragorn's worried silver eyes,

"Call him." He commanded.

The ranger glanced at him skeptically, but, drawing closer to his friend, called his name softly, "Legolas? Legolas come back."

Drawing a great, shuddering breath, the prince's blue eyes flew open as he came to. His gaze flitted briefly to Aragorn and Farlest before settling on 'Ros.

_And now you know. _came the voice, sorrowful, hesitant.

"Yes," the elf agreed, "I know." He grinned shakily, "Though it was a bit more than I bargained for."

"You frightened me, Legolas, what happened?" the ranger shook his friend's shoulder gently, trying to get the elf's attention. He had felt like he had almost lost Legolas and was already uncomfortable with the ease that 'Ros had captivated his woodland friend.

"Our red-furred friend here was giving me a lesson in ancient history." The answer was cryptic, and very strange considering that the elf was usually straightforward with his human companion.

"Oh?" Aragorn's tone was harsh, "And he nearly killed you, do you realize that?"

The prince's eyes blazed, "I'm alive, am I not?" he met the man's stare, silently challenging him to call his motives into question. Farlest could feel the tension in the air, and his eyes flickered to 'Ros, who he found was watching the two with extreme unease.

He could sense the anger mounting in the wolf, and knew what happened when his friend lost his temper. Ah well…at least the elf and the ranger would stop fighting…

"You," growled the man, jabbing his finger at the prince's chest, "Are an arrogant conceited, little-"

Aragorn was never able to finish insulting Legolas, as the wolf, 'Ros, blazing with an otherworldly light, stood between them.

_ENOUGH!!!!!!!_

His voice sounded like a thunderclap in their heads, and left an unpleasant ringing sensation. They glowered at him, but he was so wrathful that he paid no heed. Though, as a wolf, he was far shorter than either of the two, he seemed to tower, an unmovable pinnacle of white lightning.

_Stop bickering. _He roared, _I mean no harm to any of you, and if we are to continue the journey at dawn we should make good use of the few hours we now have left to us. _As he spoke, the cooling of 'Ros's temper was almost visible. Farlest knew that his friend's temper, though often destructive, was quick to subside…usually. Though this outburst had been rather minor in comparison to the elf he had once known. It seemed a few years in Mandos' halls had done him some good. Even if he had come back as a wolf.

But apparently his conversation skills were not lacking, as the man and elf backed away quickly with Aragorn mumbling something about insanity and Legolas with a look of amazement that somehow looked odd on his elven features.

But nothing more was said as they bedded down. It seemed to be a silent agreement that the wolf would keep watch this night. And somehow, they all felt very safe, for being in so dark a forest.

To be continued… 

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	12. First Blood

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you.

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

Ok, this is IMPORTANT!!!!!!!!!!! I'm going to be heading out of town for about three weeks and you probably WILL NOT RECEIVE AN UPDATE till then. I'm sorry, but if you consider the end of this story a cliffie, then it's not one of those really evil ones. So, I am trying to be nice.

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**Part Twelve**  
First Blood

When the two elves and the human awoke the next morning, their animal friend was nowhere in sight. But he silently assured them of his presence all the same. Saying only that it was best he remain hidden, as the men of Dale were not likely to be understanding of his place with them. There was still distrust among the fragile alliance and Farlest could only hope that 'Ros knew what he was doing.

The first half of the day was blessedly uneventful. Legolas and Aragorn were still somewhat disgruntled from their argument the night before, and Farlest did not make any comment, fearful as he was of sparking another confrontation. The dark-haired elf rode behind Legolas, as he knew better than to trouble the ranger, who had already taken a dislike to him and his woodland friend.

They never had time to make amends however. They were almost within sight of Dale when it happened. Another hour along the river and they would have arrived at their final destination. But suddenly, seeming to spring from the very ground, the orcs came.

The horses, as startled as their riders, fled as the three companions slid to the ground, drawing blades and meeting the attackers stroke for stroke. Farlest fought with a sword and dagger, Legolas with his twin knives, and the ranger with his sword, each adept at his craft. The elf prince was almost dancer-like in his moves, and save for the determined expression and fierce snarl that twisted his lips, one could almost believe it was a dance. Farlest spun and slashed, spinning his dagger in a blinding display of deathly skill, and the sword hacked heads and limbs from the orcs if they came too near. Aragorn cut a fierce swath through the evil creatures; his blade moved in a silver blur as he parried and sliced.

But there seemed to be no end to the foul enemies. The three were finally beginning to tire, when another, deadlier enemy stepped out. Another elf, his hair, so dark as to be almost black, and clad in midnight velvet, sought out Farlest, and engaged him in the battle; their swords meeting with a fierce clash. The raven-haired elf seemed taken aback by his opponent, as he looked into eyes as emerald as his own.

"Imagine seeing you here!" Said the strange elf, "I heard you were in these parts. Thought you'd have sense enough to stay out of trouble."

Farlest parried a sword-stroke, the orcs having backed away from the combatants, encircling them, a sort of makeshift fighting ring. "So nice to see you, Farqwen, didn't think your mommy would let you go out and play."

Farqwen's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Still witty as ever I see."

"Learned it from the best. But then, Ada never did like you, did he?" Farlest smirked, slashing low with his dagger as he taunted his brother.

"That's none of your concern." Growled the brown-haired elf through gritted teeth.

"Your company certainly hasn't improved any. Make any new Corsair friends?" He barely missed Farqwen's stroke, the point of the blade caught on his tunic, and ripped it open, leaving a red mark across his chest.

"No not lately." Replied his brother conversationally, "And if I do you won't live to meet any of them."

"Not as if I'd want to." The tone was equally light, "But I'm not going to kill you, brother. I don't want to hurt you."

"Pity our feelings aren't likewise." Snarled Farqwen, driving in as Farlest missed a parry and swung wide, his reflexes slowing with exhaustion, the blade met flesh in the area of his brother's left shoulder and emerged out the elf's back.

The raven-haired elf smiled sadly, "Yes, a pity." He slid off the blade and collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

(_Author's note: Be nice to me, I thought about leaving you here…)_

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When Farqwen had appeared, the orcs had received reinforcements from a group of swarthy men, who seemed to feel no fear fighting side by side with the evil creatures. The elf prince was the first to fall, the flat of a blade struck him from behind and he collapsed into darkness. Aragorn was simply overwhelmed by numbers and beaten into oblivion. Their enemies were seemingly more interested in taking them alive than doing any real damage.

Neither were out long, as the elf was resilient and the ranger simply had a very hard head. They were in time however to see the end of Farlest's fight, and Aragorn closed his eyes as the elf fell, mourning the brave warrior. Legolas hung his head and sang softly, drawing up within himself. Not a one of them knew if the rogue elf lived, or if he did, the extent of his injuries.

The dark elf looked his captives up and down. "well, here we are. My brother defeated, and a Dunedain and a Wood Elf on my hands." He smirked, "Seems someone's willing to pay a lot for your head, ranger. You're fortunate they want you alive." He then moved from Aragorn to his elven companion. "But you," he remarked condescendingly, kneeling in front of the prince, who had been forced to his knees, "on the other hand, are expendable."

The prince's eyes were far more expressive than words, they burned like an icy flame, as if to sear the mocking figure before him to the very heart. But still he spoke, giving voice to his emotions, "You cruel-hearted savage, he meant no harm to you." His tone was low, and dangerous, despite his position, he was furious and outraged over the fact that, not only had Farlest been his friend, but that this dark elf had so callously slain his own brother.

The elf in question did not seem to be fazed in the least. He gazed almost serenely at Legolas, and his voice was just above a whisper, "Cruel-hearted savage I may be, warrior, but the fact remains that unless my brother was more open than usual, there is no way you could comprehend the events leading up to this day. And it seems that my path has served me far better than yours, remind yourself which one of us is a prisoner."

Legolas swore at him, "You let us go. You have no cause to hold us… " he strained against the men which held him down, thinking himself lucky that it was only men, and not orcs.

"Don't have too." The other said, his manner almost childish.

Legolas swore again.

"Tsk. Tsk. Wherever did you learn such language?" Farqwen chided.

Aragorn, still shaky from being beaten into submission, whispered harshly, "Leave it be, mellon-nin." The ranger shook his head violently at the prince's questioning glance. Now was not the time to challenge the dark elf.

The midnight-clad elf shouted something in a language neither of the two friends recognized. And the elf and ranger were hauled to their feet. Just then, the grief-stricken howl of a wolf cut through the air, and it chilled Aragorn to his very heart. He knew for whom 'Ros howled.

Farqwen's eyes scanned the forest about them. "How odd. The creature howls in the daylight." He cast a dispassionate glance at his fallen brother. "I won, Farlest."

The elf strode from the forest, heading for the hills beyond, his men dragging the two captives in tow.

Luckily, Legolas was the only one that noted the slight rise and fall of the rogue elf's chest as he lay, his blood staining the ground.

To be continued… 

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**Aranna Undomiel: **_My wolf's pretty fiesty isn't he?_

**Carol:**_ ::bops:: Hey, no kissing my elf! ::grin:: just get him back to me before dark, ok? Farlest is a sweetheart, but I'm going to be very very mean to him before the end of this story, so hang on. But hey, aren't you happy I didn't kill him? Should thank heavens for little miracles._

**Deana:** _I'm posting! I'm posting! Sorry, but I'm going to have to take a break from that, but hey, no really EVIL CLIFFIES...._


	13. A Reason to Go On

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you…NO, REALLY!!!!!! hugs

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

**Surprise! You have no idea the trouble I went through to get this to you!**

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**Part Thirteen** A Reason to Go On 

Farlest had about a thousand different terms in mind for what had gone on that afternoon. Most of them do not bear repeating in decent company. But most of all he was rather disappointed in himself, for, even weary as he had been, and worn down by nearly an hour of fighting the minions that had allied themselves with his brother, he should have been prepared, he should have…

Well, it was not use arguing with himself now. He had to go after his brother and most especially, the two he held prisoner. If nothing else he had to get the ranger free. He didn't even want to think what the Valar would have to say to him if he didn't do this right. The punishment might not only fall on him, but on 'Ros as well. And he valued his friend above all other things. Well, there had been another, but he had failed miserably where she was concerned, and he was determined that no such dark fate would befall 'Ros. Not beautiful, free-spirited 'Ros, the son of the very embodiment of Elven stubbornness himself. Not to mention Farlest's best friend and confidante. The two had found that though they were entirely different, they worked well as a team, and even better as friends. The red-haired elf's brother, whom they called 'Lor, was also a part of their close-knit group.

'Ros had other siblings, but though there was love and a fierce, clannish loyalty, they did not agree with one another, which caused no end of difficulty. So, unless called to battle, they lived their lives apart; content to be so. But the family was definitely a bit 'twisted', their morals skewed and their priorities severely damaged. They were not evil, but 'Ros and 'Lor had been the best of them. Recognizing the sad state that they found themselves in, but being fairly helpless to change any of it. Farlest had been running from his father and other enemies and had but barely managed to escape being slain by Morgoth's minions when 'Ros had found him. The younger elf had been awed by the red-haired Noldo, who was something of a legend. When Farlest had asked him about some of the tales told of his deeds, he had laughed, a sound which had been mirthless and bitter, and admitted that it had been nothing but horrors, and that no one should have to live through that which he had suffered. No one but he. For in some way, the proud elf had come to the conclusion that he had deserved his fate. He was cursed.

But not for one minute had Farlest believed that his friend was anything but good. Rash, and occasionally misguided perhaps, but never evil. He was one of those of whom ballads and lays were composed that lasted for ages, and whom orcs spoke his name with fear. And when he and 'Lor had departed for what would be their final mission, Farlest had begged to go, but 'Ros had forbid it. "You do not wish to sully your name with such as we must do." Saying this, he had gone, and Farlest had never seen him again. That is, until now. He had been miraculously returned to him. He was in a wolf's body, true, but that same unquenchable spirit burned bright in the blue eyes that were eerily elven. The raven-haired Noldo thanked the Valar for his return, he had been so alone since then. No, there had been one time…one time in which he had felt safe and loved, not like a hunted animal or a wanted criminal, but as a true son.

Alas, it was not meant to be, his past had caught up with him. He was who he was, with secrets so dark hidden in his soul and mind that should any of his kind know them, they would surely shun him, cast him out…perhaps exterminate him simply to cleanse the world of the threat that was Farlest. His instincts had been so ingrained into him, that he had nearly killed one who was dearer to his foster-father than a brother. The only people Farlest had ever loved…he had betrayed them all. He had nearly killed Glorfindel's dearest friend, he had cursed the love of his life to a horrible fate, and he had not been there to save 'Ros. And now, he had let the Heir of Isildur fall into the hands of his brother. In short, he was a failure.

He sat cross-legged on the edge of the forest; looking at the hills beyond. The weight of years of guilt weighed heavily on him. He briefly entertained the thought of ending it all. The idea of throwing himself on his sword did not seem so bad at this moment. Especially as how his shoulder throbbed painfully, he forced himself not to look at it, as he knew that it would only cause him to hurt worse. He wasn't interested in his own welfare. He truly didn't care.

Then, as if he had simply appeared out of the air, 'Ros was by his side, the wolf's stare accusing. The elf dropped his gaze; he couldn't take it from his friend. His guilt was almost too great to be borne. He fingered his dagger nervously, playing with the gold and silver designs on the hilt. "I'm sorry, mellon-nin. I could not save them."

_You save yourself too well from the looks of things, either. _the wolf's sending sounded incredibly sardonic in the elf's head.

"I tried. I think he must had used a spell to enhance his speed." Farqwen was devious, and the more skilled of the two brothers in the use of the dark arts which their father had learned and devised, with practices long forbidden. Farlest had forsaken those which used anything other than his own innately elven powers, as the others were of a sinister and hideous nature.

_I know you tried, Farlest. But it was not hard enough to prevent their capture and injury to yourself. _there was no emotion in 'Ros sending. Farlest wanted to weep. His only friend now saw him as a failure. He wondered if 'Ros would mind should he drive the dagger into the heart that Farlest's own brother had so narrowly missed.

He was so lost in his own thoughts, that he barely registered the fact that he had raised the dagger to his chest, its point resting lightly against his tunic. Why not? He wondered, 'Ros hated him, Glorfindel hated him, Silmarwen hated him, and he was a failure. His fingers tightened on the hilt.

There came a low growl from beside him, _What are you doing, you fool! Put that knife away!_

Farlest came back to reality with a jolt, the knife dropping from nerveless fingers. Turning to the wolf, he wrapped his arms around the animal's neck, and burying his face in the soft fur, he wept, while 'Ros made a low, soothing rumble in his throat. _It's not all that bad, penneth. _ the wolf sent softly. _I'm still here. I have not long enough in this body as it is, for the Valar have deigned it so, but the little time they have given me…there is much to be accomplished in it. And I cannot do it alone. Do not waste your life. You are as dear to me as a brother. Dearer perhaps in some cases _he chuckled, _You have always thought too little of yourself._

A derisive snort was the only answer he received.

_Farlest, thou knowest I love thee as a brother. _The wolf slipped into old speech as he let vent to his feelings, _Dost thou think so little of me that thou wouldst throw away thy life on such folly? There is still much for us left to do, thee and I, and whilst there is purpose, there is hope, and while there is hope, there is life. Life. It is a gift to us, Farlest. And we alone of all peoples in this Middle-Earth, have a chance to live it too its utmost. Thou need to understand this. We canst not simply throw away our lives only because we no longer wish to endure here any longer. Now, see to thy wound. I wouldst have us leave before the sun has sunk beyond the horizon. _he got up and trotted forward a few paces toward the outskirts of the forest, turning back for a moment, he told Farlest, _And hurry about it will you?_ his speech became contemporary again as he went on his way.

The raven-haired elf ran a hand through his hair, "All right, Farlest old boy, you have a friend to be loyal too, a cause to fight for, a ranger to save and a shoulder to fix. Let's get at it."

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They marched. And marched…and marched a little bit more. Aragorn could have sworn he had the most comfortable boots in Arda a few hours before, but was now lamenting that he had feet at all. The orcs and foul-looking men did not venture near him, as Farqwen stayed close and the ranger had evidently been declared 'off limits'. But Legolas was a different matter entirely. The orcs were free with their fists, and the men with their whips for what appeared to Strider to be imagined faults. The elf's eyes smoldered. He was trying to remain calm and in control it was clear, but the ranger could see that he was on the verge of lashing out violently, and since his treatment was already rough, at best, Aragorn did not wish to know what might befall his friend should he try anything so foolish.

The dark elf was quiet, dangerous. He made Aragorn feel decidedly uncomfortable. He was much like Farlest, but unlike his brother, Farqwen seemed to have a much darker aura, but he was without the experience and sorrow that the ranger had seen in Farlest's eyes. And that, he thought, was all the difference. He knew that this was the younger of the two brothers, and though that was something to go on, the man knew nothing of the age difference. He wished now he had had more of a chance to question Farlest about his past. Perhaps there might have been something there that would be of use now.

There was no time to lament what has not however, for his weary legs failed him, and he stumbled. With his arms bound behind his back there was no way to catch himself, and he fell onto the ground, which was increasingly becoming more rocky as the circumvented Dale and went towards the hill beyond. His head struck a rock and pain sliced through his temple. He tried desperately to stave off the pain and remain conscious, attempting to get to his feet, but found that, although he greatly wished too, his body belied his valiant efforts and he remained on his knees.

He felt a boot nudge his leg, "Get up, Dunedain." He recognized Farqwen's voice, but as much as he wanted to comply, his legs simple would not support him. The boot came again, harder this time, "I said UP!" The ranger shook his head numbly, he simply could not.

When Farqwen lost his temper and kicked the man in the ribs, knocking him back to the ground, it was the last straw for Legolas. He suddenly leapt forward, barreling his guards over and coming to stand before Aragorn protectively. "Don't touch him! Can't you see he cannot obey you? Leave him be!" the elf prince gave a challenging glare to the midnight-clad elf before him.

The dark elf's eyes burned, "You push things too far, little elf." He said softly, his voice hard as steel. Pushing Legolas towards where a hill above them dropped off, creating a cliff, he drew his dagger. "It's the last mistake you're ever going to make."

Two men moved forward, grabbing the prince's arms and shoving him roughly against the side of the cliff. Farqwen approached him slowly, the anger in his deep green orbs the only sign that belied the calm and composed exterior, the cool elven mask which he had nearly perfected. He was furious, and the insignificant Wood-Elf was going to pay dearly.

To be continued… 

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	14. Traitor in the Camp

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you…NO, REALLY!!!!!! hugs

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

A while back, somebody requested twins…well, wait no longer….

Oh, and I'm starting home tomorrow…so updates will hopefully be quicker. I actually already have the next chapter written, I just haven't had the time to type it up.

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** Part Fourteen**

_Traitor in the Camp _

_He's forced our hand._ 'Ros was decidedly regretful. Having set a ridiculously speedy pace in order to catch up with Farlest's errant brother, they were rather weary having run most of the day. Their quarry had run all night, and it was well into the day when they had actually caught sight of what they sought. And when Aragorn had fallen, it had provided the perfect opportunity for the tiring hunters to close the gap between the two parties.

"Well, the Dunedain is in no immediate danger, and I am in no shape to face my brother alone. The elf may die, and I will mourn him, but…" the elf gestured helplessly at his friend.

'Ros glowered, _Farlest, I would have preferred you to discover this yourself, but as your brother has forced your hand so you have forced mine. The elf which your brother intends to kill is the Prince of Mirkwood; only child of King Thranduil Oropherion. I suggest you get down there and do something about it._

The color drained from the elf's face, and his eyes widened with astonishment, fright, and another emotion which the wolf found that he could not read. Turning swiftly from his friend, Farlest watched his brother, "The prince of Mirkwood is dead."

His friend placed a paw on his knee, _Why do you say this, mellon-nin? _he was curious as to where the elf had come to this conclusion, as the elf, though perhaps not for long, was there before them, very much alive.

"I saw him die. Long ago. He was very young, 'Ros…so very young…" his voice had trembled slightly.

_Didst thou do something foolish? _The inquiry was gentle.

A single tear trickled down Farlest's cheek, and he nodded.

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Farqwen ran the flat of his blade down the side of Legolas' cheek and down his neck, letting the elf feel the cold steel. He then brought the point of it to rest against the prince's chest, right above his heart. The dark elf brought his hand up and grabbed a fistful of the blonde hair; he leaned forward until his lips were nearly touching the Wood-Elf's ear. "You're going to die, elf. I'm going to cut your heart out so that you can see it cease to beat as you breath your last. I'm going to do it slowly, so you can savor every excruciating moment. And your human friend shall watch, so that your every scream shall be ingrained upon his very soul." He hissed.

He cut open the fastenings on the prince's tunic so that his chest was exposed. The tip of his blade rested above his heart, a small trickle of crimson ran down the elf's skin. Legolas could hear Aragorn cursing and struggling in the background, but the ranger had not enough strength, and he had to give up, hanging limply between two guards.

"I'm sorry, mellon-nin!" he whispered, his voice breaking as his heart threatened to do the same.

The dark elf's eyes glittered in anticipation, "No last words, elf?" But Legolas refused to reply, his blue eyes speaking volumes of hatred and contempt.

"So be it." The dark elf drew back the dagger and drove it forward and the elf prince knew he was going to die. And to his regret, he found he was not ready to leave this world.

…

But a bloody hand intercepted the fatal stroke, catching the dark elf's wrist with a skill that told of honed reflexes and great skill. "No."

Vexed and annoyed, Farqwen turned to the one who had dared stop him. What he saw was the last thing he had expected. A pair of dark eyes as green as his own. "You're alive! I thought I'd killed you!" It seemed that the elf had materialized out of thin air, as Farqwen was certain that his sibling had not been there a moment ago.

Farlest lifted his free hand, the one that was not clutching his brother's wrist and wiggled the fingers experimentally. "By the Valar, you're right! I am alive! Glad you discovered that for me. I'm sure I NEVER would have come to that conclusion by my own lonesome."

Aragorn was incredibly glad to see the other elf, though he did not know how Farlest could possibly turn the tide, it was good to see him alive. And at the very least he had turned their captor's wrath from Legolas.

The midnight-clad elf studied his brother a moment, his left sleeve was missing and what was left of it appeared to be bound around his shoulder. His right hand was still bloody, as he had apparently tended his own wound. That Farqwen's blade had inflicted damage was apparent as the makeshift bandage was bloodstained. "What do you want, assassin?" the dark elf pulled back, his fingers disentangling themselves from Legolas' hair and pulling his arm out of his brother's grip, "I somehow don't see you as taking interest in my affairs."

Farlest shrugged, "Just hate to see you throw away an opportunity brother. I am not invincible and thought in my best interest to join you."

Legolas' eyes narrowed, "You traitorous cur!" he spat.

The raven-haired elf smiled pleasantly, "Save your insults for a moment, will you? You're going to want them in a minute." The prince growled.

The dark-haired elf merely raised an eyebrow, staring at Legolas with no apparent interest. "Brother, have you any idea what you have in your grasp?"

Farqwen's gaze was uncurious, "I know who the ranger is, if that is what you mean. As for the wood-elf, he is unimportant."

"Aha!" Farlest spun about and pointed accusingly at his brother as he stalked back towards him, "And that is where you, my bumbling baby brother, have a misconception. The elf in your grasp is none other than Legolas Thranduilion, prince of Mirkwood."

Infuriated, Legolas lunged forward, throwing himself toward the dark-haired elf. But this time the guards were ready for him, one punched him in the jaw, stunning him and causing his lip to bleed while the other drove his fist into the elf's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, they slammed him back against the cliff face and he remained there, too dazed to respond. Part of his mind dimly recognized Aragorn crying out in outrage, and saw one of the guards drawing his fist back for another punch, but he was already reeling, and incapable of a response.

With an almost casual motion, Farlest caught the man's wrist mid-punch. "Enough. Let him alone. He has a right to be angry."

The look that both Aragorn and Legolas sent him was strange and slightly skeptical, as if they were unsure as of what to expect from this strange elf. Farlest was still very much an enigma. And also, where was 'Ros?

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"He's late." Complained Elladan, "He was supposed to be home a week ago."

A mirror image of himself plopped down on the grass beside him, "What's so strange about that? He's always late! Especially when he goes to Mirkwood to go visiting."

Propping himself up on one elbow, Elladan gazed at his twin, "But there's something wrong this time, 'Ro!" he insisted, "He promised, and if anything's important to Estel, it's keeping his word."

Elrohir's grey eyes grew troubled, and the older twin noted how much they resembled storm clouds when he was in this kind of mood. Finally the younger looked up, "I think you're right. He and Legolas are probably off trying to get killed again."

"Which means," the older twin began.

"They're going to need help." Elrohir finished his brother's sentence.

"Let's go-"

"-ask Ada."

Satisfied that they were in agreement, the brothers leapt up and sprinted up the stairs into the main house of Imladris, to seek out Lord Elrond.

To be continued… 

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_**Aranna Undomiel:** Well, there…you see. Things are a bit better. Legolas isn't going to get killed and help is on the way. Glad I was able to clear things up a bit. It's going to get a bit clearer where 'Ros is concerned and a bit more cloudy where Farlest and Farqwen are concerned._

_**Carol:** There you go. Fixed the cliffie. Mind you. There's another coming up…::evil grin:: And I'm journeying home tomorrow. YES YES YES!!!!_

**Sio:** _Hmmm…yes, the rare glimpses into Farlest's mind. I made him sort of an enigma. To everybody but myself of course…though occasionally he pops a few surprises on me. 'Ros is rather profound at times, isn't he? When he's not mad of course. Aren't you glad I didn't stick that last cliffie with the dagger actually at Legolas' throat? (I did think about that, though…) And Angst! YES! BRING ON THE ANGST!!!!!_

_**Draugwen:** __Oh, I'm so glad you like. Farlest is my "child" of sorts. He needs all the help he can get. And yes, 'Ros is a product of my own overwhelming desire to see that particular character in an adventure with some of the more 'modern' Lotr characters. I'm rather in love with him...Not to mention the fact that he's sooo awesome! I was actually rather worried about bringing him into this story. Wondering how to portray him…how he would fit…and so far it's worked pretty well…hmmm…just wait till everyone else figures him out…then we're in trouble._


	15. Tonight We Die

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you…NO, REALLY! hugs

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

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**Part Fifteen**

Tonight We Die

Farqwen was surprised and rather pleased to discover the identity of his elven captive, and though Legolas was fuming, Aragorn was almost relieved that Farlest had revealed his friend's identity as the prince's treatment improved drastically. They also were allowed a small reprieve as Farlest insisted that they camp for the night so that he and his brother could seek each other's council and discuss the future. They still remained distant and occasionally at odds, but it seemed that a breach had been bridged in their relationship. Aragorn had the feeling that the two must have been very close once, and he wondered what had happened.

And the apparent absence of 'Ros continued to mystify both captives, as, since the wolf had joined them, he and Farlest had been almost inseparable. They continued their journey early the next morning, traveling at a decent pace this time, heading continually in a south-easterly direction. Which was quite alarming considering that the largest establishment in that particular direction was Mordor. Though deemed somewhat unoccupied, it still had a foreboding reputation.

For days they kept up the pace. Neither of the prisoners were ever pushed to their limit, and Farlest kept a firm hand , forbidding the use of whips or other punishments to keep the prisoners going. Occasionally they would receive a cuff upside the head from one of the guards or even Farqwen. But the older of the two brothers looked out for the two captives. He never spoke to them, and it would not have ended well as Legolas was still angry, often refusing to speak to Aragorn. The ranger understood the elf's anger, as it was justified, so he simply sat by silently, offering his friend the quiet support that the man's presence gave the elf prince.

It was into the second week of their captivity that they reached the mountains. They were not the forbidding black mountains of Mordor however, but an entirely foreign range that the ranger could not identify. Legolas was similarly mystified, but Farlest and Farqwen seemed to know their destination and where they were headed, which sent a pang of fear through the ranger's guts. There was nothing he liked about his situation. Nothing at all.

Of course, there was little he could do about it. But then, on the twelfth day, they reached the far hills, mountains it seemed. And that night, was a night that they would forever remember. Farlest and Farqwen had disappeared shortly before nightfall, leaving the men and orcs to guard the two captives. The orcs glared at them, hatred in their squinting eyes, and Legolas glared back. The men made a fire and sat around it, laughing and talking loudly as well as doing a little dicing. There were alternating groans and cheers as money was won and lost. They ignored the two friends altogether, leaving the orcs to keep an eye on them. And as they had been bound hand and foot, there was not much chance of escape.

It was shortly after midnight when the two brothers returned. Farqwen's green eyes blazed in triumph whilst his brother's identical ones were troubled and turbulent. Moving quickly over to Legolas, the younger of the two dark-haired elves cut the ropes that bound the prince's ankles and hauled him to his feet.

They had camped beneath an overhanging cliff, and this of course was an excellent makeshift wall for Farqwen to slam his captive into. Legolas decided that this was entirely too convenient but did not have time to speculate further as the air was driven from his lungs. "Our employers have no use for you, little woodland prince." The dark elf's low voice was malicious, "So that means I get to play!"

Turning slightly, he beckoned a small group of the orcs forward. "You boys care to have a little fun?"

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The twins had arrived in Mirkwood to find King Thranduil making ready to leave for Dale. When finding the cause of all the activity was the errant prince and his human companion, the twins concern deepened. Dale was only a days journey away and the two were long overdue. They offered their services to add to the search.

"We both have some skill in healing as well, in case…" Elladan's sentence trailed off, and Elrohir for once had not tried nor wanted to finish it.

But Thranduil only nodded, "Welcome, Elrondion, and let us pray that your skills shall not be needed."

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But a healer was needed now. Aragorn wished that they had one, or that he at least would be allowed to treat his friend's wounds. They had baited the elf, and beat him cruelly when he attempted to fight back. Their many-thonged whips slicing his back and sides in their play. Farqwen watched in quiet amusement. He had had the ranger gagged when he had begun to curse and rant, ignoring Legolas' command to be silent.

Farlest, on the other hand, had refused to watch, he had a quiet argument with his brother, but the younger had evidently won out, and the raven-haired figure had strode out of camp in a rage. Aragorn wondered if he would return, not that he would mind if the rogue never did come back. At this moment he only wished that his friend was not hurting so, but he had passed out from the pain. Farqwen had tired of his game, as the prince had refused to make any sound of distress. Though at the end his breaths had come as low sobs, as he had become unable to control his body's reaction.

Halting the orcs, the dark elf had shoved the prince carelessly aside, instead coming towards Aragorn, whose only thought at that moment was to strangle his captor or something equally as violent. Farqwen cut the ropes on the ranger's ankles and brought him over to the cliff face. Where they sat, away from the others.

"Ranger, I am not entirely sure why these people care so much to get their hands on you, nor am I interested. I do not enjoy meddling in the affairs of humans. They always seem so petty. After all, why should someone as obviously weak as you rule a mighty kingdom when there are those who can do such as this?" he brought his hands up and began to gesture vaguely into the night air. Mist began to materialize between his fingers as his lips moved, silently mouthing words. The mist rose from his fingertips and a face appeared, and though his hair was lighter, he had deep green eyes and a mouth that looked like it was set permanently into a slight, haughty sneer. He was an elf, that was apparent, or maybe something just a bit more.

"Mae Govannen, Adar." Farqwen dipped his head respectfully to the ghostly visage.

"What are you doing now, ion-nin?" demanded the specter, "I hope you haven't awoken me simply to tell me that you're trying to impress another underling. I was actually in bed getting a decent sleep, until you impudently interrupted." Though his voice maintained a soft, almost soothing timbre, there was a threat hidden within the words, and Aragorn could almost see the elf pale at his father's disapproval. The ranger wondered if Farqwen could actually communicate with his sire, or if it was just a complicated illusion, though he thought that the elf was not a good enough actor for that.

"I present to you the heir of Gondor, Adar." He gestured to the man, and when the face turned to Aragorn, he felt the weight of that gaze, and the ranger immediately knew that the being, who was hundred of miles away, should be avoided at all cost. If he thought that Farlest had been dangerous, then this elf, if elf he was, was ten times more deadly.

But Farlest and Farqwen's father appeared amused, he chuckled softly, "Ah, but you are a mere youngling. That my sire should fear you so…" he shook his head, which Aragorn found was slightly unnerving as you could not see the body to which it was attached. Then the gaze became searching, and uncertainty came in a wave over the Dunadan, but then the head turned back to the brown-haired elf, and the man sighed in relief, "He is unimportant my son, and the elf prince of which you spoke even more so. Continue with your business."

"As you say, my lord." Farqwen waved a hand, and the mist faded away, wisping into nothingness. The elf leaned closer his expression intense, "You see now, Dunadan? That is only the merest glimpse of the power that is at my fingertips. You cannot stand against me, neither you, nor the elf that you hold in such high esteem. I see that you love him as a brother…well…" The dark elf rose, and stood for a moment staring up at the star-filled sky. "By the sun's dawning he will be no more." he turned to meet the ranger's horrified stare, "Grieve for your brother now, for the whips were poisoned. I purposefully arranged it. And it will be slow, Strider, he will die in agony. There is no way to save him."

The man lunged at him, "You son of an orc!" his charge knocked Farqwen to the ground, "You treacherous, foul demon-spawn! I'll see you in Orodruin's fire! I'll kill you! And you know something, elf? For once the thought of an immortal life cut short will please me greatly!"

He had his hands around the elf's throat, and he might have succeeded had his foe not been Farqwen. An unseen force suddenly threw Aragorn back, smashing heavily into the cliff face causing stars to shoot across his vision and his head, which had just recently ceased to ache, to virtually explode with pain once more. The dark elf had merely gestured, and with one move, immobilized his foe. Picking himself up, he laughed softly at the ranger who lay sprawled on the rocky ground, "Valiant effort, human, but it will do you no good, nor will it help your elven friend. Perhaps you shall die as well. I have no use for your pathetic kind. And besides," His smile was chilling, "It would amuse me…" The elf took out his dagger, and stooping, he held it with considerable nonchalance at Aragorn's throat.

To be continued… 

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Eeeeep! Cliffie!


	16. A Healer You've Become

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you…NO, REALLY! hugs

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

My EXTREME apologies for the lateness of this post, but my schedule has been AWFUL! (understatement) And right now, I'm sick…it's not fun. Oh well, enjoy.

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**Part Sixteen**

_A Healer You've Become _

"No one shall die here tonight, nor shall any die tomorrow." Farlest's soft voice cut the stillness. He had once again materialized out of the air and Farqwen started slightly, caught off his guard at his brother's mysterious appearance. He was also most distressed by the fact that his brother held him at sword-point. There was also a large, snarling red wolf at his side.

"There is no need for death, brother mine." Then he smiled and bent closer, "Unless of course you do something stupid that I deem deserves such."

Farqwen knew his older brother quite well, and his skills were legendary. Placing his palm on Farlest's blade he moved it away from his nose. "I am no fool, brother. And should we not be allies? Why do you threaten me?" his voice turned soft and pleading, and to Aragorn, who still lay pinned under the elf's knee, even he could see no reason to threaten the other elf…but then the spell was broken.

The raven-haired elf laughed mirthlessly, "Even Adar cannot sway me like that. You are quite petty. I did not doubt for one moment that you needed to be threatened. Your spell must not have been a strong one…or perhaps you have become lax?"

The dark elf made as if to lunge at the other elf, but a growl from 'Ros caused him to shy away. Aragorn gasped for air as the pressure on his lungs was removed.

"Since when have the forest creatures been fighting for you?" the midnight-clad elf crouched before his brother, dagger in hand.

'Ros looked at Farlest, _Pffft! _He sniffed indignantly,_ Forest creature. If this brother of yours cannot be any more discerning than that I wonder why we really bother with him. I'm getting the compulsive urge to tear his throat out._ The wolf snarled viciously.

"'_Ros curb your temper my friend. Your wrath may be legendary but I really want my little brother in one piece. Even if the feeling's not widespread."_ The elf sent a warning look downwards. He really did not have any wish to be in this situation, and even though his blood was boiling he had no wish for bloodshed. He had loved Farqwen dearly when they were younger, he had been a protective guardian over his little brother, but then…he sighed disgustedly, his family had gotten in the way. No. His mother had.

It had been very hard on him, as he had seen his little brother's eyes turn hard, and his warm smile turn cold. He had loved all his siblings dearly. Though the others were now lost to them. One was better off on his own, and the other had been missing since a few years after his birth. His was a dysfunctional family…but he never for a moment had thought it would come to this.

He looked at the sword in his hand as if it were a poisonous viper that would recoil and strike him down. Why did this have to be?

"Drop your weapon, Farqwen. I do not wish to strike you down."

The silence was deafening as identical green eyes attempted to stare one another down. One filled with anger, the other with a sad…almost bitter… expression.

The younger elf's lips turned back in a fierce snarl as his weapon clattered to the stony ground. "This round is yours brother, but I warn you, I do not like loosing."

A bit of the old feeling came back to Farlest, as he could not resist replying, "I don't like to loose either, brother. That's why I always win…in the end."

Farqwen rose slowly, keeping his hands away from his body, where his brother could see them, "It doesn't have to be this way, Farlest. We could be fighting on the same side."

The black haired elf gave him a small, sad, smile. "Yes, brother. We might. But it would have to be my side, and that I do not see, as joyful as the prospect is, coming to pass. You know I cannot fight for the same reasons I once did. We have not lived honorable lives, you and I. Maybe perhaps someday I might atone for some of the hideous wrongs committed, but I do not see it." Then his eyes hardened again, "But I hope to make up for some of my mistakes tonight. 'Ros, watch him for me will you?"

The wolf bobbed his head in assent as Farlest made his way over to where Legolas lay on the ground. He was still tied at the wrists and ankles, and shivering uncontrollably. His body was wracked with chills and spasms of intense pain as the poison worked its way through his system. As soon as he touched the prince, opening his mind to the other's, the dark-haired elf knew that, without his help, his gift, the wood elf would not live through the night.

He swore under his breath. Complications were everywhere.

He took out his dagger and released the elf. Moving to the ranger he repeated the procedure. The man's eyes were flinty and his stance and pose told Farlest that the ranger was enraged. Complications galore…

"Why are you helping us?" the Aragorn's voice was soft, but the elf could feel the dark current of anger running beneath it. But then, Farlest thought, the man had no reason to trust him, no reason at all. Especially now that his friend was dying because of Farqwen, and why would you trust the brother of a killer? Ah, but was Farqwen truly a killer? No…he was misguided, but…oh he had been so different. It had been Farlest who had grown hard. He had been the killer. And he had done his job well. That is, save for the last time he had ever called the slaughter of innocent beings a mission. He had failed by choice. And now…he had the chance to spare again, the life of the blue-eyed elf whose youthful terror had moved him so that he had laid his weapon down, and swore never again to raise it in such manner again. The elf had shown him a different side of life. He had thought the prince dead and had been astounded when 'Ros had told him the truth.

And now that elf lay dying at his feet.

"I help because it is the least I can do." He turned on the man, "Make no mistake, Heir of Isildur, I do not help because of you." He knelt beside the stricken prince and took the wood-elf's hand in his own, "I help because I owe your friend a debt I cannot repay." Then he smiled softly, placing a hand on Legolas' forehead, "Perhaps someday I will…"

The prince moaned, semi-conscious and not comprehending the situation, and tried to push Farlest away, but the healer would not be moved.

Opening himself to the other's body, and was immediately assaulted with multifarious sensations. The radiant energy of the prince's life force, the brilliant light of his _fëa, _the sharp, burning sting of his wounds, and…. there, the sickening, creeping misery that was the poison in the immortal's blood.

In an instant, Farlest realized that healing the injured elf without significant harm to himself was an impossibility, the poison was too far along and his wounds too severe. Farqwen had done his job well; curse him.

Breaking the link he had established with Legolas, the raven-haired elf handed his sword to Aragorn, who was watching him like a hawk. "Watch my brother."

"What for? Isn't that what the wolf is supposedly doing?" The ranger had decided that he wasn't going to go anywhere. He did not trust this elf as far as he could throw him, and he seriously doubted that he would be able to even so much as pick him up.

Farlest's face was grim, "I'm going to need his help if your friend is to live." Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, but the elf held out a hand to silence him. "If he is to have a chance, there is no time to lose."

With one last suspicious glance at the raven-haired elf, the man moved over to stand beside Farqwen. 'Ros joined Farlest at Legolas' side, _What is your need?_

"I can't save him without killing myself. I'm going to need your support if we are all to live through this." He met the serious gaze of the wolf, "It's risky, and it will weaken you. I won't do this unless you are certain you wish it."

But the red-furred animal only nodded solemnly, putting his paw on Farlest's knee, he waited silently beside his friend. Farqwen and Aragorn studied them with curiosity, and the minions of the elven mage only waited in the shadows, unsure of their part in the drama that unfolded before them. Neither the orcs or the men had made a move; and some had slunk away into the night, not feeling enough loyalty to the cause to risk their own necks now that the odds had fallen away from their master's favor.

Farlest knelt, his head bowed, his hand on the chest of the Mirkwood Prince. 'Ros standing faithfully beside him, when, of a sudden, a strange, warm light seemed to flow from the Noldo's fingertips.

He concentrated on the poison. He felt the wounds in the elf's back, and found that they were not life threatening. Legolas would have to heal those on his own as Farlest did not wish to drain 'Ros or himself to that extent. He concentrated on the poison, that roiling, seething darkness that permeated the wood elf's bloodstream.

The light reached out, and burned away the spreading shadow that was swiftly killing the prince of Mirkwood. He sought it out wherever it was, breaking out in a light sweat, his eyes clenched tightly shut and jaw set in concentration. 'Ros was panting as he tired as well, feeding the healer his strength. Whilst the others watched, drawn into the strange scene before them.

The night became deathly still.

At last, the creases in Farlest's brow smoothed, and he drew away. He breathed deeply, trying to slow his racing heart, he could see darkness crowding on the edges of his vision, but he could not pass out, not now. He could not…would not…show that kind of weakness in front of the present company.

'Ros, nearly as tired as his friend, whined softly, putting his massive head in the elf's lap. Farlest stroked the wolf's muzzle absently.

Then Legolas stirred…

Aragorn, forgetting all else, ran forward, throwing himself down next to his friend, "Legolas?"

The prince blinked blearily at him, "A-Aragorn?" He struggled to a sitting position, gritting his teeth to stifle a pain-filled moan. For though his life was no longer imperiled, his torn back throbbed fiercely. "What happened?" He demanded softly. When his gaze came to rest on Farlest, his eyes narrowed dangerously, "What is he doing here?"

'Ros cocked his head and shot a warning glare at the blonde elf. Aragorn placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, "It's all right. He saved your life, mellon-nin." The ranger smiled at the two elves, "I believe we owe him an apology. I may have misjudged him."

The weary Farlest simply nodded his head in gratitude.

_Good choice, young Dunadan._ Sent 'Ros.

"It seems a shame to spoil the moment, brother," Hissed Farqwen, who, being momentarily forgotten had made good use of his time, retrieving his weapons, and rallying the remnant of his company. He pointed his sword at Farlest's throat, "surrender now and I won't kill you."

Farlest let his eyes slowly travel up the blade and beyond, his gaze finally coming to rest on the pair of green eyes that were so like his own,.

"Kill me then." He challenged softly.

To be continued… 

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	17. Duels, Death and Destinies

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka, San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you…NO, REALLY! hugs

You all have my apologies for the very very very lateness of this post.(I hope it won't happen again) So, to refresh your memory, here's a summary:

Legolas and Aragorn were sent on a simple, diplomatic mission to Dale on account of some mischief that was (partly) their fault. But on the way, Legolas' keen senses caught the trail of a wounded elf. Following the trail to its source, they discovered Farlest, an enigmatic rogue whose background is mysteriously enthralling. While disinclined to trust him, they become rather fond of his impish nature. We then get a glimpse into what makes Farlest tick in a flashback which reveals that he knows Glorfindel and is thought of by the blond as a son. It also reveals that he went with Glorfindel to Rivendell, and apparently committed some great sin, but that part is left hanging, to be continued later. Farlest soon meets up with another of his old friends. A wolf, who possesses the unique capability of speaking mind to mind. Legolas soon finds that the wolf, called 'Ros, is not a wolf at all, but an elf long-dead, sent back by the Valar in his present form for some unknown purpose. 'Ros is there, both to thwart Farlest, who was apparently serving his own agenda, and too keep the Heir of Isildur from harm. Legolas, enraptured and curious about 'Ros, is accidentally injured when he becomes enveloped within the reborn elf's mind. Aragorn is quite upset, but Farlest comes to the rescue and displays a unique talent, the capability to heal empathically. But not long after, they are attacked by a combination of orcs and men who are led by Farlest's younger brother, Farqwen. The two siblings apparently did not part ways as friends for Farlest becomes engaged in a duel said brother. Farqwen is able to wound Farlest severely, and the elder elf passes out and is thought dead by his younger brother. Legolas and Aragorn are captured and the whereabouts of 'Ros are unknown. But the situation is thrown into a new perspective when Farqwen reveals to Aragorn that he know the ranger is, in fact, the Heir of Isildur. They are marched around Dale and in a northeasterly direction. Aragorn, unable to run any longer, stumbles and falls, and cannot get up. Legolas breaks free to protect the ranger from Farqwen's wrath, Farqwen is angered, and prepares to put an end to the prince's life. Meanwhile, 'Ros finds Farlest, who is recounting his life, which seems to him to be one dismal failure after another. 'Ros scolds him for his current state, and Farlest, seeing rejection, contemplates suicide, but the wolf, halting him, gives him a lecture saying that he cares what happens to the elf and that Farlest has no right to throw away his life. With this renewal of purpose, Farlest and 'Ros set out to rescue their new friends. They arrive in time to save Legolas' life, but only by revealing his identity as Prince of Mirkwood. Legolas is furious at the apparent betrayal, but Aragorn is simply puzzled. 'Ros remains hidden. In a whirlwind of clandestine events, Legolas is severely beaten and Aragorn is threatened, Farlest, unable to watch the prince's torture, has disappeared, and Farqwen reveals that the prince has been poisoned and won't live the night. He seems on the verge of slaying Aragorn when Farlest and 'Ros arrive to still Farqwen's hand and push the advantage. Farlest, at great expense to himself and using 'Ros as a back-up, cleanses the poison from Legolas' body. But Farqwen, using the companions' weakened state to his advantage, holds his brother at sword-point, promising death and Farlest had just challenged his brother to follow through with the threats and kill him when this chapter begins…

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**Part Seventeen**

_Duels, Death and Destinies _

The others knew immediately that Farlest had said the wrong thing. Legolas reached his hand out pleadingly, "Farlest…"

Aragorn shook his head, "It's his fight, Legolas."

Stunned by the ultimatum that Farlest had just thrown, Farqwen's face contorted in a dazzling display of emotions that passed so quickly as to be uncomprehendable. But any love he might have felt for his brother was quickly replaced by a raging anger. His brother, his superior older brother, the one whom his father had loved, had just challenged him, and he could not appear weak.

He brought his sword away from Farlest's neck and prepared to swing the blade downwards in a decapitating blow. The brothers' gazes never wavered, remaining locked, even as one meant to send the other rushing doom-wards.

A savage snarl caused the younger elf to bring his blade to a halt, barely inches from ending his sibling's life. _Still thy blade, youngling! Or thou shalt ne'er wield it again, save with, perhaps, in time, thy left hand as thou whilst no longer have thy sword hand! _Teeth bared and glowing dimly, 'Ros had taken position behind Farqwen during the elves' argument.

But Farqwen, heady with his own success and swelling with overconfidence, brought his sword into a guarding position, "And why should I fear you, forest-dweller? Strange you may be, but I see little to fear from a talking beast!" He leapt forward, driving his blade before him, meaning to end the fight with one swift blow. If it had struck, he could have sent the sword deep into the wolf's chest, but 'Ros had more power to command than simply teeth and claws. An arcing, twisting beam of light appeared and met the elf's headlong rush with a crackle of electricity.

The elf yelped, dropping the sword as it suddenly seemed to burn within his grip. His clothes smoked where they had been singed. For a moment, he gaped at the red-furred animal in amaze. But, nonplussed, he clambered to his feet. Bracing himself, he set his defenses in place.

"So, wolf, this is to be a different sort of battle. Who are you to think that you can stop me?" He glanced upward as an unseen wind whipped wildly about him and his opponent, swirling his long hair into the air and ruffling 'Ros's fur.

_I am they elder by many years, and that is all you need know._ The wolf's reply was cold. For the convenience of the others he had projected his words into all their minds.

Farqwen shrugged, "Ever have I been rebellious and payed no heed to elders whom I have no reason to respect or fear. There is nothing I see in you that inspires me to cower and tremble!"

The wolf snarled, _Then know me for who I am, and you shall find many a reason to fear!_

The bright light sprang again from 'Ros, tendrils of brilliance seeking the dark elf who's silhouette suddenly seemed very small against the radiance of the wrathful creature that stood before him. Farqwen's hands shot out and strange, unnatural fire flowed from his fingertips.

But the fiery, sparkling power that 'Ros radiated seemed to swallow up the dark flames, licking at the dark elf's skin and inflicting excruciating pain.

_"ANNO BALAN-NIN, ADAR!"+_ He called desperately for his father to give aid to his waning power which seemed infinitesimal in the face of the angry 'Ros whom he had scorned. 

He was relieved beyond measure to feel a fresh surge of dark energies…Morifaer had lent his support.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The visible light display that spoke of the power of the two combatants reached out and encircled the two, both the wolf and the elf.

Both Aragorn and Legolas tried to fathom the nature of the strange energy, but it was an ever-changing swirl of evanescent colors and their eyes could not focus upon it.

"What sorcery is this?" asked Aragorn, his wonder plain in his voice.

Legolas glanced at his friend, the sparkling power reflected in his eyes, "I know not, Aragorn."

Both turned to Farlest, who watched the duel of magic…but he had no answer.

To be continued… 

Give me power, father!

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The great know-it-alls of ff net have outlawed reviewer responses…so…just know I love and appreciate each one of you! You can e-mail me if you wish!

Estelrond


	18. The Time Given

Author: Estelrond

Disclaimer: The words are mine, the elves aren't

Warnings and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

Carol, Trinka, San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you…NO, REALLY! hugs

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Now, you all are probably thinking, "WHY THE HECK HAVEN'T YOU UPDATED, WOMAN!" Well, for that you have my utmost apologies. I had a production, if you must know, and wrapped it up spectacularly, I might add. Then there were all sorts of finals and such, and I'm also currently involved with graphics making competitions. But hey, this is summer, and with summer comes the updates. The next chapter is currently nearly half written, and I hope you haven't grown tired of me yet. I really want to finish this fanfic by the end of summer. (In your dreams, girlfriend) and I think I'm going to make a try for it. But please bear in mind I'm also trying to finish a fantasy novel that's been in the works for about two years now and it gets top priority. But then, the LOTR plotbunnies have made their grand return and we threw a party for them, so they're likely to stay. Now, enjoy the chapter, and bug me for the next!

This update is especially for Sarah and Griz', who told me they missed my story. feels special

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**Part Eighteen**

_The Time Given _

No longer, for 'Ros, was this a display of power or an attempt to cow the impudent young elf before him. Backed by the power of his father, a power of unknown strength, Farqwen had suddenly gone from a mild challenge to staggering obstacle. He snarled, a sound that even in elf form would have been more than appropriate. He put up a wall in front of him, and braced himself.

The seconds seemed infinite. The strain became overpowering as Farqwen's attack built up fury, piling behind the wall. 'Ros began to tremble slightly, his body giving way to the pressure of the battle of power. Then, he felt a slight give in his mental wall. He put forth one last great surge. There was a brief pause, the wall of energy moved forward just the slightest bit. Then came rushing back at him, all the pent-up power that he had been staving off came hurtling backwards. The incandescent colors swirled about him, overpowering him, blinding him. Then the agony. He had never known such pain, and that, in itself, surprised him greatly. It felt as if his very being was being torn asunder and his soul ripped from it. The light seeking, destroying, purging. His own power mixed with Farqwen's, breaking him to pieces. Then the darkness took him, and it was sweet relief.

_"I shall wake in Mandos. But," _He thought, _"At least I went out spectacularly…again"_

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When the final blast came, Aragorn, Legolas, and Farlest were not sure what to make of it. In it's final throes, the battle had been so intense that the sheen of power had blinded the onlookers. They were afraid now. For they could not see the victor. If indeed there was one. Then, the tendrils of power wisped away, and a figure emerged.

Farqwen, apparently uninjured, walked towards them, a smug grin on his face. The orcs and ruffians who hadn't run away in fear, crept towards their employer, hopeful that the situation could once again turn to their favor.

Farlest lip curled in disgust, "You didn't defeat him! You had to beg our father to save your pitiful hide! Do you have any idea what you've done? He was so far above you as to make you seem a thrall! He was truly noble and you destroyed him! He was my FRIEND! He – he…" the raven-haired elf trailed off as his fury melted away into tears of sorrow.

"Faugh!" Farqwen spat at his brother, who now knelt in the dust, shattered by the loss of his friend. "It matter now how I won. It only matters that I did defeat him! And you should choose less reckless friends, they're a bad influence on you."

"You shouldn't have done that." The voice of the Elven prince was quiet, almost silky, concealing well his feelings. Beside him, the ranger nodded, silently agreeing with his best friend.

The victorious elf smirked, "Who are you to tell me what I should or should not do, Mirkwood Prince? Your life is once again in my hands as it is; I wouldn't push my luck. You either, human, you're even more worthless than he is."

Aragorn's eyes shone silver with anger, "You do not deserve to be called an elf."

Farqwen moved forward and seized the front of Aragorn's tunic, almost faster than the eye could follow, "I dare you to say that again, impudent whelp!"

"You. Do. Not. Deserve. To. Be. Called. An. Elf." Aragorn said evenly, biting off each word and enunciating clearly, so as not to be misunderstood, his posture shouting defiance. Farqwen slapped him, twice.

"Your death will be slow and painful. And you will take back every word you just spoke, but it will not save you. You will beg me to forgive you before I am done with you, ranger." He whispered into Aragorn's ear, his voice soft and pleasant, "I will enjoy it."

"You leave him alone, brother."

Farqwen's head snapped around. Farlest stood behind him, his eyes smoldering like green embers, "You're going to have to settle it with me before you so much as touch them again!"

The younger elf smiled again, a softer version of the smirk he had worn before. "Ah, you care so much, Farlest. And because of it you have so many weaknesses. Why did father ever like you, I wonder? You are certainly not like him. But then again, you were, somewhat, in the old days." At this point he released Aragorn, moving closer to his sibling, "You were a killer, Farlest. You could do it, quick, clean, and simple. There was no one better than you. You even brought the girl you loved to father."

Farlest's eyes widened, "That was a mistake! Father – "

"It happened, Farlest. And you stayed. She left, scarred forever by her wounds. Wounds for which she blamed you and swore your death. But you still care for her don't you? You kept an eye on her, didn't you?"

The raven-haired elf's head had begun to drop as he was accused, but at this last it came up sharply, "What?"

"Don't think I don't know. I knew why you were always late coming home from your missions. You went to check on HER, because you knew where she was. But you never did a very good job protecting those you loved. There was that other friend of yours too, what was his name? You used to tell me stories about him when we were little. The golden-haired warrior."

"Glorfindel." Farlest mumbled miserably, like a child who has been reprimanded for some sin.

"Ah yes, the Balrog-Slayer he is called. To bad the Balrog slayed him as well."

At this, Farlest gave a small smile, "Hmmm…I wonder how Glorfindel would take your insults."

"He is dead, Farlest, that is of no consequence. You show so little respect for the dead. You haven't even paid your last respects to the corpse of your fallen wolf friend."

The green-eyed elf staggered backwards slightly, "Something which I will amend immediately." Turning, he loped off into the night.

"Be careful!" Farqwen called after him gaily, "You might have to look for a while, he was blasted pretty far back!"

Just then, a blade came whistling through the air. Legolas caught it deftly by the handle, looking curiously back at its source. "Keep an eye on my brother for me will you?" Farlest called out.

Handing the knife over to Aragorn just as swiftly, the prince followed the other elf, "Watch him, Strider. I'm going with Farlest."

After the two had disappeared, Aragorn grinned amiably at his ex-captor, "Now, you and I are going to have a discussion about what exactly determines a good Elf."

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Legolas raced to catch up with Farlest, and, because of the sudden darkness after being exposed to the light of the battle, nearly collided with him, for the other elf had stopped short. Staring ahead, seeming almost afraid to move. "Farlest?" the prince queried quietly, worried that the day had finally taken its toll on the other elf.

Suddenly, soundlessly, Farlest sprinted forward, running as if life itself were dependent on how fast he could place one foot in front of the other; Legolas, his back paining him, jogged after, making as fast a pace as he could manage. When he reached his companion's side, he glanced down at the fallen body at his feet, and his mouth opened in a wordless 'o' of astonishment.

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Aragorn soon realized that he probably should have gone with the other two Elves. The orcs and hired thugs in Farqwen's employ were advancing. As they drew closer, the elf inched away, to the safety of his minions.

The circle tightened, and the ranger realized that he was in very deep trouble. Then, Farqwen, a knife in hand, sprang forward, using his weight and momentum to topple the hapless human. Straddling his chest, a wild gleam in his eye, the elf smiled darkly, "Now, ranger, it begins." And he plunged the knife through the human's shoulder.

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Farlest knelt reverently beside 'Ros. Somehow, the power that had struck his friend so forcefully had done something that he had not thought possible, had changed the course of things. The Valar had allowed for a grand miracle. For lying in front of him, his chest rising and falling ever so slowly, was an Elf.

To be continued… 

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I STILL LOVE YOU ALL!

-Estelrond

aka Elven Dreamer Child


End file.
